


Loss

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-28
Updated: 2006-02-27
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:48:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8066923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: How much can a friendship withstand? (11/18/2003)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This was actually written and posted in Spring and Summer 2003 before I was a list member. I'm putting it here now because I plan to post a sequel here soon, and that seemed pretty silly without first putting up the original. My apologies to those who have already read it--nothing has changed, so you can just hit delete. This is set prior to anything having to do with the Xindi or the Expanse. They were just happily exploring space when I interfered.  
  
No beta on this one, a fact that may be woefully obvious. My only excuse is I didn't know about beta readers at the time I wrote this.  


* * *

It was cold. Whatever he was lying on was cold, stealing the heat from his body. He didn't know where he was, or why he was lying on some rough surface- just that he was cold. He slowly became aware that something was very, very wrong. There was a high-pitched noise that was annoying him immensely. Screaming, he realized. Someone was screaming. Well, he wished they'd stop. It was getting on his nerves. It was several more seconds before he realized he was the one making the sound. As the knowledge dawned, he made an effort to silence the noise, thinking that it must be as annoying to other people as it was to him. But the sound wouldn't stop, and soon he quit trying. Not much later the world began to fade, and he willingly accepted the darkness that replaced it.

* * *

The world came back into a blurry focus. He didn't want to come back here, back to this place where there was noise and hurt; both were present again. He tried again to make the noise go away, and this time he had some success. He was able to make the noise coming from his own mouth stop, but he could still hear screaming, somewhere in the background. It dawned on him that perhaps that noise wasn't coming from him. Well, he wished they would stop it- the noise hurt his ears, and hurt his mind. To his amazement, his wish came abruptly true. He tried to think about that, but found he couldn't. It was simply too hard to think. He was so confused, and still so very, very cold. But this time there was no escape into darkness, just more of the awful sound that had started again. There was something else too. Something he should know—it was there, but he couldn't quite bring it to the front of his mind. Something he was forgetting—something very important. Part of him knew he needed to remember, but another told him he didn't want to know, didn't want to remember any of what had happened. That part was louder and more insistent. Every time he tried to focus on remembering, he was overcome with a terrible sense of anxiety, a sense that whatever it was he couldn't remember was so awful it might kill him. Trying to recall the memories caused him to break into a sweat. So he quit trying.

When he turned his head to the right, and saw what his captors were doing, he couldn't bear it—the memories came dangerously close to returning, so he closed his eyes and turned away.

* * *

Things were happening around him, and to him, that he had no control over. Someone grabbed his arm, pulling him roughly to his feet, and then he was being pulled down a hall. A door opened in front of him, and he was shoved roughly into a room. He stumbled and fell to his knees as the door slammed behind him. For a moment he stayed as he was, and then slowly he began looking around. The room was made of stone, it seemed. The ones beneath his knees were rough, and becoming uncomfortable. He tried to rise, but found that he couldn't quite manage it. Instead, he leaned back and sat on his butt. He continued studying the room, trying to make sense of it. It was a large room, with a rough wooden bench lining the opposite wall. There was a bucket in the far corner, and a row of windows on the wall high above the bench. If he stood on the bucket, he still couldn't possibly see out the windows. They did, however, let in a meager amount of light—the only source in the room. He worried, because he could tell that the light was already fading, and he didn't want to be in this place alone in the dark.

The room had a dusty, dank smell, and he could feel the moisture in the room, creating a chill that was seeping into his tired and sore body. The room seemed familiar, and he suspected he had been here before. He tried again to rise to his feet, but still couldn't quite make it. He managed to crawl to the wooden bench and pull himself onto it. He lay there and dozed, not able to get comfortable enough to really sleep. There was still that sense of impending doom, of knowing that something really terrible had happened, but something he couldn't...wouldn't...remember.

* * *

He was still cold. It seemed that somehow his body had lost all its heat, and would never regain it. He looked around hoping to find something, anything, to provide some warmth. He saw nothing. He shivered with the cold.

* * *

Another sensation was now making itself known. Hunger. He didn't know how long it had been since he'd eaten, but based on the way he felt, it had to have been quite some time. He tried to gather his senses and take stock. He knew he was cold, and he knew he was hungry, but that seemed to be all he knew. What had happened? Why was he here, in this dark and cold place? And why did he hurt? He tried to determine what was working correctly. Eyes. His eyes seemed to work. And his ears. That was good. He could see and hear. And walk. He had walked to this terrible room, so his legs must work reasonably well. Nevermind that it had hurt to walk that short distance—he'd been able to. He wiggled his fingers and confirmed that those, too, functioned. As he turned his head, he discovered what didn't work. His neck hurt, badly. He could turn his head, but it was extremely painful and made it throb with a terrible ache, making it very hard for him to even keep his eyes open. He could feel various aches and pains in his muscles. His ribs ached—he suspected that several must be cracked. He felt so terribly weak. He remembered screaming earlier, and suspected that whatever he'd been screaming about played a large role in his current discomfort. He looked down at himself, squinting through the pain, and saw that his shirt was mostly missing. The large piece that covered his torso was torn from the neck to almost the bottom of his ribs, and the sleeves were missing from the elbow down. 'How odd' he thought vaguely. His pants were in terrible shape as well, torn badly at the bottom. His belt was missing. His jacket...hadn't he had a jacket? Well, if he had—and he was nearly certain he had—it was gone now. He sighed. It was so cold, he would really like to have his jacket...but it was gone.

Exhausted, hurt, and confused, Commander Charles Tucker the Third lay on the stones of his prison cell and faded into a restless sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke some time later, unsure how long he had slept. The night had been long and cold, the pain in his body making it hard to rest. He could hear something in the distance, and he recognized that it was this that had woken him. It was a high-pitched, eerie sound. Screaming. A human screaming. The voice wasn't familiar—it was too distorted to be recognizable—and yet he had a feeling he should know it. But he didn't, and for that he was grateful.

His body still ached, and his head throbbed, but his thoughts were becoming a little clearer. He struggled to remember how he had gotten here, and found that this time some information was available to him. He was the chief engineer on a starship. He knew that now. His name was Charles, but everybody called him Trip. His captain was Jonathan Archer, a long-time friend. He was from a planet called Earth, and he was a long way from home. He knew these things, but he knew them as he knew historical or scientific fact—bits of information that didn't seem in any way connected with his present situation and didn't carry any emotion with them. He knew other things, too. He knew that the planet he was on was called Dorlog. He remembered that now. He had been sent down to this planet by Captain Archer on what should have been a routine mission to purchase some needed supplies. It had gone wrong, but he couldn't remember how. They—yes, there had been a they—had gotten into trouble. As he tried to remember, the sick feeling of anxiety came back, so he quit trying to put the pieces together. He knew he should care that he couldn't remember what had happened, or who he had been with, but he didn't. He was glad to not know.

* * *

The noise had stopped again. He didn't know if the person was gone, had lost consciousness, or had simply run out of strength. Screaming was exhausting—he knew that because he had done a lot of it in the very recent past. He was glad the person had stopped, and he hoped they were getting a reprieve from their suffering.

* * *

He had slept again. He woke to sudden noise in the room. He didn't want to wake and return to this terrible place, but the noise made staying asleep impossible. The door had opened, and the stone room was filling with people he didn't recognize. Most of them, he realized slowly, were not of the same species he was. They were from this planet, not his.

At the end of the entering crowd, there were humans. They saw him, and he saw recognition light their faces. They worked their way through the suddenly crowded room over to the corner of the bench where he was slowly sitting up, trying to make sense of this new information.

"Commander! We didn't know what had happened to you! Are you okay?" the human that spoke was tall and darkly colored, and seemed genuinely concerned. He knew this man. This was his crewmate. He stared up at him, unable to think of anything to say. The woman seemed equally concerned. She knelt next to him, and touched him with a small delicate hand.

"Are you all right, Commander?" she asked. Her voice was soft, soothing.

The sound of her familiar voice pierced the fog surrounding him, dispelling it. His stomach clenched and he began sweating in anxiety as other memories began to surface. He fought off the panic, and tried to shut down the flow of images, but he was only partially successful. The despair made him drop his head. He realized the young woman was peering anxiously at him.

"I'm okay, Hoshi."

He coughed. Those were the first words he had spoken in several hours and he realized his throat hurt, and was hoarse. He coughed again. The tall man had gone to the bucket, checked it's contents, and brought it to him. He was offered a sip of water from a dipper, and he took it. It hurt his throat to swallow, but the water felt good, even if it was warm. Hoshi had taken off her jacket and draped it across his shaking shoulders.

"Thank you," he managed.

* * *

Hoshi was worried. Trip hadn't spoken to them since their initial greeting. He was obviously hurt, but it wasn't the bruises and the pained way he moved that most concerned her. It was the look in his eyes; it was the look of a man who was lost, defeated. To Hoshi, he looked bereft. She was very frightened. Not at the fact that she was in a prison, but because she was afraid even if they got out of prison soon, Commander Tucker had been irreparably damaged.

"Commander, what happened?" Travis asked, almost tentatively, several moments later. The helmsman was worried, too, but he was also anxious to know what had happened. He wanted to know if a plan had been formulated. He wanted action. He wanted leadership.

Trip didn't respond. He knew what Travis wanted, but he didn't want to be a leader. He didn't want to be responsible for anyone else. He didn't want to think, didn't want to feel, didn't want to do anything that might risk having more of the images return.

"Commander?" Travis tried again to get the engineer to respond to him. "What happened? After we were separated, what happened to you, and..."

"Were you hurt?" Trip abruptly demanded, sitting forward, wincing. "Either of you? Did they hurt you?" He had to know.

"No, Commander," Hoshi replied promptly, seeing he need reassurance. "We've been held in another cell, with these Dorlogians. We haven't been harmed. It's been a little cold for my taste, but we haven't been mistreated".

"That's good. That's very good." Trip relaxed slightly and sat back against the wall carefully, his sore body demanding he only make slow moves. And then the sense of relief disappeared. They hadn't been hurt—but someone had been. There had been that voice, screaming.

"After we were separated from you, they ignored us. I don't know why they arrested all these other people. It seems that these mass arrests are common. They aren't arrests really. These people don't seem worried. They're convinced they'll be released soon. They say they just have to prove who they are, get their credentials verified, and that's it. These roundups are apparently a routine security precaution at the marketplaces on this planet, to catch smugglers and thieves, other criminals. Sort of like unannounced inspections, no harm done..." Travis was speaking quickly. He was alarmed at the Commander's behavior, and was trying to assure both Trip and himself that all would be well. His voice trailed off as he saw Trip's reaction. The engineer's eyes had grown large, and his jaw had dropped at Travis description of this as a routine event. Travis actually backed away, unsure of what Trip might do.

"Ummm...Sir...what happened to you?"

Trip didn't answer, directly. "Tell me what you remember...from the time we landed on the planet. My memory is...a bit fuzzy."

Travis shot Hoshi a glance, mortified at having put his foot in his mouth. Clearly, Trip had been harmed.

"Well, Sir, we landed the shuttle at the Central Shuttleport. You decided that was close enough to the market place. It was a nice day for a walk, you said. Once we got there, you told Hoshi and I to stay in the main square, while you tended to the mission. We decided to pick up a few souvenirs, while you met your contact. We had just picked out some jewelry and some cloth, when the security police arrived. They cordoned off the entire area. They started making announcements that I couldn't understand, but Hoshi..." here he stopped and gestured at the linguist. She took over the story.

"Fortunately, I'd picked up enough of the language to understand. They were ordering everyone in the square on to these big vehicles—sort of a combination between a bus and a van. We didn't want to get in— we didn't want to leave without knowing what had happened to you—but we were forced. They pointed weapons at us and insisted, but they weren't unduly violent, and most of the people in the square cooperated. They grumbled about the inconvenience, but they weren't terribly upset, or frightened. So we got in..." here she looked back at Mayweather, concerned about whether she should tell the next part. Travis spared her.

"Sir, I looked out the window, and I saw you being dragged out of a shop. The guards didn't appear to be pleased. I saw one of them hit you in the head, hard. You were knocked out. Then he threw you in a different type of vehicle. We didn't know if you were dead or alive, or where they had taken you. But they did tell us that once they cleared our identity with the government, we'd be released. That's all we know. We've been waiting with these people for our identities to be verified."

"How long ago was that? How long have I been here?"

Hoshi and Travis looked at each other, trying to hide surprise that he didn't know. "It's been three days, Sir," Hoshi finally told him.

"Three days?" he whispered, aghast. Only three days. A man could be broken in less than three days. A man's entire life could be altered, radically and ruinously, in just three days.

* * *

Hoshi and Travis sat a short distance away from Trip. He seemed to want and need the space. He remained still on the bench, his knees pulled up to this chest, staring across the cell, unseeing. Fortunately, the other residents of the cell seemed content to leave the humans alone, so they weren't disturbed much. Some of the Dorlogians with whom Travis and Hoshi had been friendly stopped to chat and to ask about their friend, but when they saw that he wouldn't speak with them they left him alone. Speaking in Dorlogian, Hoshi reassured them that he was simply not feeling well, that he needed rest. She didn't tell Trip that he was upsetting the Dorlogians, and frightening Travis and herself. It was obvious that something was terribly wrong with the Chief Engineer. Something had happened that he would not share with them. It was dawning on Hoshi and Travis that they would get no guidance from their superior officer; whatever happened next was up to them.

* * *

'Three days. It was only three days. Less, really' he repeated over and over to himself. 'I was in here by myself for at least a day. So two days. Less than that, even, because I wasn't even conscious for a while. Less than two days, really. Maybe less than a day. Less than a day to betray a friend'.

Commander Charles Tucker put his head on his knees and squeezed his eyes tightly closed. If he hadn't been so numb, he might have cried. Instead, he simply sat in silent despair.


	3. Chapter 3

They were finished with him. They had achieved their goal, and no longer had any need for him. He had no idea what this might mean for his immediate future, but he was immensely relieved that their attention was focused elsewhere. He could hear them, talking and laughing with each other, ignoring him now that they had what they wanted. He prayed their conversation would continue to occupy them; the last thing he needed was any more of their attention. He couldn't see them, but he didn't need to. Their alien visages were burned into his mind. He shuddered at the memory of their faces close to his own as they demanded, promised, and threatened. The slight movement drew their attention.

"What do you want us to do with him, Director?" The voice was hideously familiar and would haunt his nightmares.

"Are we still holding the group from the Dalyan Market?"

"Yes, Sir. We put them in the cell with this one's colleague. We should be releasing them soon. The identity verification is almost completed."

"I don't like mixing the groups. I don't want innocent people exposed to this element." The gruff voice he had grown to know, and fear, was clearly displeased.

"I know, Director, but we ran out of space. We conducted several sweeps this week." The voice lacked authority now that the Director was present; earlier it had been issuing orders and commands with assurance. He despised the voice and it's owner.

"Just put him with that group. We'll figure out what to with them later. I doubt he'll be causing any trouble". They both laughed at that. He hated them for it.

* * *

Lost in his misery, Trip didn't notice when the door to the cell opened. He didn't see the guards pull a body into the cell and drop it roughly on the cold floor. Hoshi and Travis did. Hoshi felt a chill as she recognized the tattered remnants of a Starfleet uniform. She worked her way quickly through the crowd of curious Dorlogians, and dropped to her knees beside the man. In an instant, Travis was beside her. Together they stared at the body. There was no hint of motion.

Hoshi took a deep breath to steel herself. With great trepidation, and as gently as she could manage, she grasped a shoulder and rolled the person over, revealing the badly beaten face. Involuntarily, she closed her eyes and turned away. She didn't want to make any sound that might alarm the injured man, but she couldn't prevent a small, choked sound from escaping. She exchanged horrified glances with Travis, who looked as though he might be ill, and then turned to Trip. "Commander! It's Lieutenant Reed!"

Trip looked up in surprise. "Malcolm?" He rose from the bench and took a step closer. "He's alive?" Hope lit his face.

"Yes! I...I think so. Travis..."

She didn't need to finish. Travis was already pulling at his uniform, tearing off the sleeves to make bandages, and going for the water. Hoshi forced herself to look back down at Reed. His face was a disaster of bruises and lacerations. Both eyes had been blackened, and were swollen shut. His lips were so misshapen they looked like a caricature. If she hadn't seen the remnants of the Starfleet uniform and the dark hair, she wasn't sure she would have been able to recognize him. For a moment, she wondered if he really was alive. Was he breathing? It was hard to tell. Looking away again, unable to bear the sight of her friend's battered body, her eyes fell on Trip.

The engineer had frozen. The look of hope and relief that had momentarily flooded his face had disappeared. To Hoshi it looked as if all the blood had left his face. His eyes were wide with remembered horror.

"Commander? Are you all right?"

He didn't reply. He backed into the bench and collapsed there, shaking his head in vigorous negation, as though by denying the events he could change the past. Hoshi started to rise to go to him, afraid he was going to faint, but a slight sound drew her attention back to the man on the ground by her side. She looked down.

Reed moaned again. Hoshi would never have thought that a sound that carried so much pain as that low groan would make her happy, but just the certainty that he was alive made her almost giddy with relief. She was suddenly afraid to touch him, not wanting to cause him any additional discomfort. His shirt, like Trip's, had been torn down the middle so she could see the damage that had been done to his chest and belly. His trunk was dark with bruises, and had a nearly polka-dotted appearance due to the odd red spots that looked like burns; she had seen the same sort of spots on Trip's exposed chest. The marks were so precise, so obviously deliberately inflicted, that she flinched at the evil. She was sure he had broken ribs and his right hand was mangled in a way that was ominous. She couldn't even imagine what other damage had been done.

"Oh, Malcolm," she managed. "I'm so sorry."

"Hoshi?"Amazingly, he sounded pleased to hear her voice, although she could barely make out the word. His voice was terribly hoarse, and his swollen lips mangled the word further.

"Yes, Lieutenant. It's me. Travis and Commander Tucker are here, too."

Reed nodded weakly. He couldn't see them through his swollen eyes, but he trusted her. "Where am I?"

"We're in a prison cell along with several Dorlogians."

He tensed reflexively, and she quickly reassured him. "They're prisoners, too." He relaxed slightly.

"Would you like some water, Lieutenant?" Travis asked. Reed considered the question and then nodded. Travis lifted the dipper to Reed's lips, and Hoshi lifted his head so he could drink. When he was done, she moved so that his head could rest on her thigh, a more comfortable spot than the rock floor. Almost immediately he drifted into an exhausted sleep.

* * *

Malcolm was alive. The armory officer hadn't been killed. The relief was tremendous and the knowledge lightened the crushing load of guilt that had accompanied the last elusive images clicking into place in his brain. But it didn't change what he had done. Reed was alive, but the fact that he had survived did nothing to lessen Trip's culpability. And there was still that poor Dorlogian merchant to consider.

He knew he should get up. He knew he should check on Reed's condition, knew he should apologize profusely, beg for forgiveness. But he couldn't. So he remained immobile on the bench.

* * *

Travis was furious at the condition of his senior officers, and frustrated and angry at his inability to do anything to help. Why hadn't he and Hoshi guessed that something was wrong when Reed and Tucker weren't reunited with them in the prison? Why hadn't they demanded to know what had happened to them? They had been chatting with the Dorlogians about culture, local sports, and civic happenings as Hoshi learned the language; all the while the two senior officers had been going through hell. Why hadn't he demanded to know where their companions were? He had enough experience to know better. Hoshi might not have, but he did. Why hadn't he made a fuss? He mentally kicked himself again. Unsure what to do at this point, he sat beside Hoshi and Reed. Not wanting to wake the sleeping officer, Travis spoke in a whisper. "How badly do you think he's hurt?"

Hoshi shrugged. "I can't really tell—I mean, I can see the obvious, but I have no idea if he has internal injuries or not. I wonder what happened? Why were they separated from us?" Travis shook his head, unable to venture a guess. The young helmsman looked over at Trip, who hadn't moved from his spot on the bench. The engineer sat, head in his hands, apparently oblivious to the world around him. He hadn't asked about Reed, hadn't come over to check on the armory officer's condition, hadn't even moved. Travis found this behavior both extremely odd and very worrisome.

"Hoshi, how are we going to get out of here? I don't think Commander Tucker is going to be any help. And when are they going to let us go? The Lieutenant needs medical attention. Commander Tucker does too. They said it wouldn't be more than a day or two, and it's already been three and a half."

"I know. I had thought we'd be released by now; that's what the Dorlogians were saying." She paused, considering. "I'm going to talk to the guards, and see what I can find out." She moved carefully, lifting Malcolm's head out of her lap, and gently placing it on a pillow she made from Travis' jacket. She walked with purpose to the door and, speaking Dorlogian, called for the guard. Within a few minutes one appeared.

Travis watched as Hoshi spoke to the jailor, slightly jealous of her ability to assimilate languages with such ease. He saw her becoming more and more animated, gesturing with her hands and pointing over to where Travis sat with Reed in the middle of the cell. He was watching the agitated linguist so intently that the soft voice took him by surprise. He hadn't realized Reed was awake.

"Are you and Hoshi okay?"

"Yes, Sir. We weren't hurt. We've just been held here."

Reed seemed about to ask something else when Hoshi returned. Travis could see that she was fuming, but she didn't say anything; she looked down to check on Malcolm, and then glanced with frustration over at Trip as she settled herself back on the ground.

"What did the guard say?" Travis asked. Hoshi shot him a look that clearly said she didn't want to talk about it right now. It was too late.

"Yes, Ensign...what...did he say?" Reed's voice was breathless and strained, but there was undeniably the tone of command in it. She had no choice but to answer him.

"He said we'll be released soon. Everyone's identity is still being verified." She didn't say anything else, as she drilled the helmsman with her gaze, willing him to keep his mouth shut. He got the message, but it was too late.

"And?" Reed asked.

"Pardon, Sir?"

"Ensign, I can tell when someone isn't giving me a..." he was interrupted by a weak cough, and he blanched with the pain it caused. It was some time before he could speak again, but he continued gamely. "Isn't giving me a straight answer. What else did the guard say?"

Hoshi sighed. "Not much, Sir. I just tried to see if I could get a doctor in here. He said no. We argued." Malcolm seemed satisfied with the answer, but Travis could see that Hoshi still wasn't telling all.

* * *

"Is Commander Tucker okay?" Malcolm asked some time later, when he'd woken from a short doze. In his sleep he had rolled slightly to his side, and woken with a jerk and cry of pain. He tried to take some deep breaths, but that only made the pain worse. So he lay very still, resting his head on Hoshi's thigh, until he could manage the question. Hoshi leaned down to hear the soft, muffled words. His voice was still so hoarse it sounded painful to speak.

Hoshi exchanged a glance with Travis, who was pacing back and forth between Trip, on the bench, and Malcolm on the floor. He had heard the soft question, but could only shrug helplessly. Commander Tucker most certainly was not okay. But...his physical injuries didn't seem life threatening. His mental condition on the other hand...She wondered which Malcolm was asking about, and decided to give him the less alarming answer.

"He's pretty beat up but he isn't in any danger."

"Where is he?" was the next soft question. "I need to talk to him...it's very important."

Hoshi didn't know how to respond. Trip was no more than fifteen feet away, but he still hadn't come over to check on Reed, hadn't even asked about his friend's condition. Like Travis, Hoshi was stunned at the odd behavior, and a little angry. Perhaps Trip's head injury was worse than they were aware; the laceration was so deep and ugly. Somehow Hoshi didn't think so. She caught Travis eye and jerked her head toward Trip, simultaneously mouthing, "Get him over here!" She didn't answer Malcolm. Instead, she gently brushed his hair off his sweaty brow, hoping he would drift off to sleep again.

Travis approached the engineer hesitantly. Trip was sitting with his head on his knees, his hands wrapped securely around his head, in what was apparently his new preferred posture.

"Commander? Lieutenant Reed is asking about you. Don't you want to talk to him?" the young officer asked.

"No. I can't, Travis. I'm sorry," Trip mumbled, not lifting his head.

"He said he needs to talk to you. He said it was important. I think it would make him feel better. He's worried about you." The conversation was making Travis uncomfortable.

Trip shook his head. "I...I'll tell him I'm okay from here." Trip raised his voice and called out loudly, "Malcolm, I'm fine." Then he dropped his head back onto his knees. He knew Travis didn't understand, and must think him terribly cold-hearted. But how could he tell Mayweather that he couldn't bear to look at his friend's injuries knowing he was responsible?

* * *

"Won't he...come over here?" Malcolm managed, sparking another cough. Hoshi was wiping his forehead with a wet cloth, trying to keep him from getting agitated and aggravating his injuries. He was pale beneath the bruises, but she was sure that the pain she heard in his words wasn't all physical. She did her best to give a reassuring answer.

"No, I'm afraid he won't. He's been behaving very oddly. I think he might have a concussion. He's confused".

"No," Malcolm whispered wearily. "He's angry." He grew quiet. When some time later he spoke again his words were so quiet that Hoshi wasn't sure she heard him properly. "I don't blame him. I failed Enterprise."

Hoshi didn't ask him to repeat himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan Archer was angry, and he didn't care who knew it.

"They're being held where? Why did you arrest my people? We had permission to deal with the merchants, Commandant. We followed your protocols and registered with the government..."

"Yes, yes, I know," the flustered Dorlogian on the screen agreed readily, his small teal ears twitching anxiously. "They weren't singled out. We were doing a routine security screening of the market. We catch a tremendous number of wanted pickpockets, arms traders, smugglers, and other criminals in these sweeps. It is an inconvenience to the shoppers, but they know it protects them, so they tolerate it. Again, I'm sorry that your people have been inconvienced. They will be released immediately."

Archer forced himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was a terrible inconvenience, but if his people hadn't been harmed, it was forgivable. His anger was a response to the concern for his missing crew. It had been terribly worrisome when the away team hadn't reported back, and it had taken him three days to track them down. But he had to respect the way these people provided for their security. They were, after all, on a major trade route, and prone to having a wide variety of criminal activity on their small plant—everything from large crime syndicates to petty criminals frequenting their renowned trade markets. From what he gathered, his away team had been about to be released. Their names had been found on the list of registered planetary visitors, and the local officials were happy to let them leave the overcrowded jail.

"All right, Commandant Cournic. I'll be expecting them to be released immediately, with their purchases. We really do need to depart."

"I understand, Captain Archer. I'll facilitate their departure myself," the nervous administrator assured him. "Good day."

Archer exchanged a glance with T'Pol. "Well, that's a relief. They'll certainly have an interesting story." He chuckled. "Hoshi is probably in heaven, what with the chance to practice the language with all those Dorlogians." T'Pol shot him a skeptical look, and he chuckled again. "Okay, okay, I agree, jail is not the best place to practice a language. She probably won't be too happy. But she'll be okay."

* * *

"Hoe-sheee," the word sounded odd coming from the Dorlogian. "Ma-weetherrr. Follow me."

Hoshi rose and gestured to Travis who hadn't understood the guard. They reached the door of the cell.

"You're being released. You've been cleared as legitimate visitors. We apologize for the inconvenience, but understand that this is a necessary security precaution. Your personal possessions will be returned to you when you sign out. There is a vehicle waiting to return you to your shuttle. Your captain is anxious for your return." The guard smiled at them while Hoshi translated for Mayweather. He really didn't seem a bad sort, Travis thought. Over the last few days they had chatted with him quite a bit. They had learned that he was married with two small daughters, and liked to garden in his free time. He had been as accommodating as he could to the group from the market, making sure they always had fresh water, and an adequate, if not generous, food supply. He had refused to provide a first aid kit, or to call a doctor, but they understood he was following his orders. They had started to follow him out of the cell, when Hoshi stopped short.

"Wait. What about them?" she gestured at Reed, now lying on the wooden bench, and at Tucker, who remained balled up against the wall.

"Oh, those are the criminals. I'm sorry you were forced to be in a cell with them, but we were short on space. I hope they didn't bother you." The guard looked around, checking to see if anyone else was listening, and then whispered conspiratorially to Hoshi, "I heard they're either spies or smugglers."

Hoshi's eyes widened as she realized the implications. "No, no, no! That isn't true! They're with us. We all came to Dorlog together. They're our crewmates..." she hastened to explain.

An odd look crept over the guard's face- part suspicion, part consternation, and part fear. "I'll have to double check the prisoner manifest. See if their identity has been confirmed." He was trying to herd them out of the cell, hurrying them.

"We can't just leave without them," Travis interjected.

"I'm sorry," the guard said firmly, but sympathetically. "Your identities have been verified. You must leave. Your captain wants you back, and we don't want trouble. If we keep you any longer, he'll consider us to have kidnapped you".

"He's going to be just as upset that you're keeping our crewmates," Hoshi snapped. "Not to mention the fact that they've been mistreated..."

Travis interrupted her. "Do what you can to get them released," he instructed the guard. He grabbed Hoshi's arm. "Hoshi, let's go." He nodded to the guard to lead the way, and firmly urged Hoshi to follow. "You mentioned a vehicle?"

* * *

The two off-worlders were gone. The guard had thought they were going to make trouble, but suddenly the tall young man seemed to have seen reason, and he had taken the woman with him. Good. He had to get to his superiors immediately. Had they made as big a mistake as he feared? He shuddered, and hurried down the corridor.

* * *

"What's wrong with you, Travis?" Hoshi demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. She was livid. "We can't leave them here!"

"I know Hoshi. I don't intend to leave them. But arguing with that guard wasn't going to do any good. Now we're free, and in a better position to help. First thing I'm going to do is contact the Captain."

Hoshi could see his logic, but she was still angry. It was easier than admitting how worried she was, especially about Malcolm. She wasn't entirely sure of the extent of his injuries; he'd tried to hide the pain, but she'd been able to see it in the tension of his body, and he'd groaned at the slightest movement. They had managed to help him move to the wooden bench, so he wasn't lying on the cold floor, but that had been all they'd been able to do for him. She feared he might be bleeding internally, or have a punctured lung. She tried not to think about that, or about how devastated Trip seemed. Grudgingly she agreed with Travis, and followed him to the vehicle that was waiting to return them to their shuttlepod.

* * *

"Shuttlepod One to Enterprise," Travis was on the communicator almost as soon as he was inside the shuttlepod.

"Travis! Good to hear from you, Ensign. Have you been released?" Mayweather let out a sigh of relief to hear the reassuring voice of his Captain.

"Yes, sir, but..."

"Well, get up here. You've had a long enough vacation..." the Captain's tone was teasing. "Sir!" Travis interrupted, "We have a problem..."

"Something wrong with the shuttlepod? We'll you've got our Chief Engineer with you. Trip, don't tell me you got arrested AND broke the shuttlepod on the same mission..."

"Sir!" Travis was practically shouting, desperately trying to make Archer understand. "He's not here. He and Lieutenant Reed weren't released!" There was a moment of silence. "Please repeat that, Ensign."

"Sir, they weren't released with us. Apparently, the guards thought they were criminals. Or spies. They didn't realize they were with us. We told them, and the guard said he'd check into it, but..."

"But you don't know if he did. Is Hoshi with you?"

"Yes sir."

"I want the two of you up here, now. I'll work on getting them released, but I don't want them deciding that you're spies, too."

"Sir" Hoshi spoke up for the first time. "If we're not here, how will they get back to Enterprise? If their return is delayed waiting for a shuttlepod...I don't know if Lieutenant Reed can wait that long."

"I don't understand." But Archer had a suspicion that he did.

"Lieutenant Reed has been injured, Sir. I don't know how, and I don't know how badly. But he needs medical attention as soon as possible."

Archer considered this information. "What about Commander Tucker?"

"We don't know, exactly, Sir. He is hurt. His injuries don't appear quite as severe, but he was acting very oddly," Travis tried to explain.

"Oddly?"

"Captain, it's hard to explain" Hoshi put in. "But I wouldn't count on him initiating any action. Something is wrong with him."

Hoshi thought she heard Archer sigh before he made the tough decision.

"Ensign Sato, Ensign Mayweather, I want you to return to the ship immediately. The risk to you is too great. I don't know what these people are going to do when they realize there is an association between you and the 'spies' they've captured. They may realize their mistake and release Reed and Tucker, but on the other hand, they may think you're spies, too. I don't need four officers in prison, when I can reduce that number by half. Get up here. We'll be ready to return on a moment's notice, and we'll send Phlox down when we pick them up. I expect you up here immediately."

They didn't like it. Archer had known they wouldn't, but he knew they would obey. He turned to the next order of business.

"T'Pol, get me that damn Commandant again".

* * *

They were alone now. All the Dorlogians had been released shortly after Hoshi and Travis had left. Reed was glad his younger crewmates were free, but it made him feel very alone. It had been nice to have people he trusted here with him. He trusted Commander Tucker, of course, but Trip wasn't speaking to him. He'd failed, and Trip couldn't forgive him for it. He sighed, trying to think of what he should be doing. He was an armory officer. It was his nature to think strategically. They needed to formulate a plan of action, consider possible escape possibilities, contingencies. But he was in no condition to make any sort of escape attempt. Frankly, if the guard left the door open for him, he wouldn't be able to take advantage. He wanted to sit up. He needed a drink of water for his sore throat, and his sadly abused body was stiffening up; the coldness of the room didn't help. The single attempt to make any significant movement had been very costly. When Hoshi and Travis had tried to help him sit up, he had nearly passed out from the pain in his ribs. He didn't dare try again.

He wished he could see. Not being able to determine where Trip was sitting made him feel nervous, and even more alone. And he was thirsty. He reached up with his uninjured hand and tried to pry open an eyelid. It hurt, but he continued until he had managed to open up a narrow slit. It wasn't much, but at least he could see a little bit. He could make out the bucket of water Hoshi and Travis had left nearby. He tried to grab it, but it was just out of reach. To get it, he would have to sit up. He considered the effort it would take and abandoned the idea.

By turning his head slightly and squinting through the narrow opening under his left eyelid, he could see much of the cell, including Commander Tucker. He observed that Trip was huddled on the bench, his head on his knees, covered by his arms. He didn't seem to have noticed Reed's activities. Malcolm considered trying to get his attention and asking for assistance in getting the desired drink of water, but he was afraid of the response he might get. Exhausted, he dozed again.

* * *

Trip had been aware of Reed's struggles. Peeking out from under his arms, he'd been trying to decide what to say to Reed, how he might approach him. When Reed had refused to ask his help, even though he obviously needed it, Trip had despaired. 'He's so disgusted with me, he won't ask for my help,' Trip thought. 'I don't blame him. He must hate me.' Trip kept his head down, so Reed never saw the agony on the engineer's face.

* * *

"Commandant, I've lost my patience." Archer's voice was low and controlled, but left no doubt that he was furious. "Two of my crew have not been returned, and I'm told they've been injured, perhaps seriously. I want an explanation, and I want them back. Now."

"Captain, I am so sorry. Really. They were picked up in a shop well known for attracting a criminal element; in fact we suspect the merchant there of being a central figure in a smuggling syndicate. Combined with the fact that they were clearly off-worlders, and were asking highly technical questions...the officers misidentified them. It was an honest error, Captain."

'An honest error?' Archer thought skeptically, but he put it aside for the moment. "I can understand that, Commandant," he said through gritted teeth. "What I don't understand is how they came to be injured, and why they haven't been released yet."

"Captain, they were simply questioned. They may have sustained some minor injuries but they were never in any danger, I assure you."

Archer wanted to argue that point. Hoshi had tearfully described Reed's condition, and while they might not be life threatening, his injuries certainly weren't 'minor' either. And something was very wrong with Trip. Arguing wasn't going to help at this point, though.

"Fine, Commandant. I'll accept your explanation. What I want to know is when I can pick up my officers. I have a shuttle ready to come for them. Have you released them yet?"

The Commandant cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "We're waiting on verification, from our headquarters. I expect it immediately. You can come down now, Captain, and the minute the verification is received they'll be released to you."

"Where will they be?"

"Well...it might be easiest if they're allowed to stay where they are..." the officer hedged.

'In other words, you can't move them into a public place without exposing yourself to quite a bit of embarrassment,' Archer thought, but restrained himself. "Fine" he spat. "I'll be down with a shuttlepod within the hour. I'll be bringing my doctor with me. I assume you'll have our landing permissions processed, and have us registered as planetary visitors? And please transmit the official documentation, so I'll have that available. I don't want any more errors, if you don't mind."

"Of course, of course," the alien tittered. "They'll be ready." He disappeared from the screen.

Archer shook his head. "I'll be going myself. T'Pol, you've got the bridge. Have the doctor meet me at the launch bay."

T'Pol simply nodded, knowing the futility of arguing with the Captain.

* * *

Trip raised his head slightly when the door opened. He felt a brief flash of fear. He didn't recognize the guard as one of his tormentors, but that didn't mean much. This guard, however, looked hesitant. He was carrying clothing, a bucket of water, and cloths. He handed one set of clothes to Trip, and dropped the other next to the sleeping Reed. "Put these on," the guard muttered. Trip, without his translator, had no idea what had been said. The guard seemed to realize this. He left, returning in less than a minute with the communicator. He gestured for Trip to activate it. The guard spoke again, and this time Trip understood him perfectly.

"Put these clothes on, and clean up. You're being released. Get the other one to change, too."

"No," Trip replied, and enjoyed the look of surprise on the guard's face. He was not in the mood to do anything the Dorlogians wanted; obviously the situation had become embarrassing for them, and they wanted and needed their captive's cooperation. Trip had no intention of giving it. It was obvious Reed couldn't move enough to clean himself up and change, and the last thing Trip was going to do was add to the armory officer's discomfort, just to satisfy their captors. 'If they want Malcolm to change, they can do it themselves,' he thought defiantly—and then belatedly realized that if the guards did decide to force Reed to change, they probably wouldn't be too gentle. With this realization, Trip started toward Reed to help him, glaring at the watching guard all the while.

* * *

Reed had been dozing, but when the guard spoke he woke. Like Trip, he was momentarily seized with fear, so he feigned sleep. He heard the guard announce they were being released and instruct Trip to change clothes, and he heard Trip refuse. His heart sunk, and his insides froze. Trip was so angry, hated him so much, that he wouldn't even help him do what was needed to get out of here. He wanted to protest angrily, to tell Trip he'd done his best, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Besides, Trip was right. It was only natural that the engineer was disgusted and angry. He would just have to live with that now. Maybe, some day, Trip would give him a chance to explain. The voice startled him. At first he didn't recognize it—it was so cold, so devoid of the humor and warmth it normally carried. "Lieutenant Reed. They want us to change clothes. I'll help you." Malcolm was stung by the hard frost in that voice. It hurt to hear that coldness directed at him. He reacted instinctively to protect himself.

"That's all right, Commander. I'll manage."

Trip was taken aback. He hadn't really expected Malcolm to reject his help. He had harbored a hope that this could be a first step toward attempting to repair the damage that had been done. But Malcolm made it clear that wasn't to be. Not that Trip blamed his crewmate for not wanting him anywhere near. Silently he backed away. Reed struggled to pull himself up enough to tear off his sweat and blood stained shirt with his one functioning hand, but it took too much of an effort and he slumped back, breathing in pained gasps. Trip watched, his heart aching. It turned his stomach to watch his friend—ex-friend he reminded himself—in pain. When Reed braced himself to try again, Trip couldn't stop himself from speaking.

"Lieutenant, this is ridiculous. You can't do that yourself. Forget changing. I'm not doing anything they want. They're going to release us anyway." Trip glared at the guard as he said this, trying to judge the reaction; the guard simply looked confused at the rebellion. Reed didn't respond, but he knew Trip was right. Besides, it hurt too much to keep trying. Wordlessly he dropped the shirt.

* * *

"Commandant, no more excuses. Where are they?" Archer's tone held a hint of danger that made the Dorlogian nervous. Phlox, beside him, remained silent.

"We're just giving them some...refreshment. They'll be out momentarily." The Commandant rubbed his hands together briskly and glanced around anxiously, smiling with relief when the chief guard entered. The guard glanced at Archer and Phlox, and then whispered in his superior's ear. It was almost comical, the way the Commandant's shoulders suddenly slumped in defeat, his ears turning from the turquoise to an agitated red. He looked up at the tall human in front of him.

"They aren't ready. They...they won't get ready. Just go get them!" He gestured at the door with frustration. Archer didn't understand what was going on, but being pointed toward his men was all he needed.

* * *

They found the cell door open. Archer barged in, and then stopped short at the scene. Trip was sitting in one corner of the cell, knees drawn up to his chest, shaking his head and glaring defiantly at a guard who was pleading with him. He was filthy. Dried blood was caked on his face, and Archer could see both bruising and several odd marks on his exposed chest. He had obviously been mistreated.

On the opposite side of the cell Reed lay silently on a wooden bench that lined the far wall, apparently staring at the ceiling. His clothes, too, were torn and filthy. However his apparel was not Archer's concern. Reed looked even worse than Trip. The armory officer had obviously been beaten; his torso was covered with bruises, and his face was as bad. Both eyes seemed to be swollen closed.

Archer felt the rage welling up and forced himself to take a deep breath, to maintain control. His primary goal was to get his men out of here. As he continued to observe them, his brow furrowed with concern. The tension in the room was palpable. Trip was as far away from Reed as he could manage. It struck Archer as wrong, and he remembered Hoshi and Travis' warnings that the engineer was acting strangely.

Trip spotted him. "Captain!" he exclaimed, the relief evident in his rough voice.

Reed turned his head, and Archer could see that one eye was, very slightly, open. A tiny smile broke through. "I knew Hoshi and Travis would clear this mess up," he whispered, although the only words that were clear to Archer were 'Hoshi' 'Travis' and 'mess'.

"Yes, they did a good job of letting me know the situation," Archer said, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Come on, let's get you guys home. I'm sure you don't want to stay here any longer."

"No, Sir" Trip replied, but his voice had a deadness to it that frightened Archer. He saw Reed flinch at Trip's tone. The small smile faded, and the eye closed. 'Something is very wrong here,' Archer thought, looking back and forth between the two men. 'Very wrong.'

Phlox either didn't notice the undercurrent of tension, or he didn't care. He moved to Reed's side, knelt beside him, and scanned him quickly then nodded to himself. "I'm going to give you a hefty dose of painkiller and muscle relaxer, Lieutenant. We won't try to move you until it takes effect," he promised. He emptied two hyposprays into the side of Malcolm's neck, and then rose and went to Trip. After scanning him as well, he pulled out another hypospray. Trip resisted.

"Doctor, I'm not in much pain anymore. Just a little sore."

"You need this, Commander. I'm not going to argue with you." Phlox didn't mention he was more concerned with Trip's mental state than his physical one. He intended to administer a neurochemical balancing medication as well as a painkiller. Trip tried to argue, but the Captain intervened.

"Trip, you're not in any condition to make decisions. Listen to the doctor."

Trip opened his mouth to protest one more time, but was once more interrupted, this time by Reed.

"I'd like to get out of here now, if you don't mind," Malcolm announced, and even though the words were indistinct, their meaning was clear enough.

"Excellent idea!" Phlox smiled. He injected Tucker before he could resist further, and then went to assist the armory officer. He gently helped Reed to a sitting position, and then slid Malcolm's arm over his shoulder and carefully helped the younger man stand. It was clear that despite Phlox's ministrations, Reed was still in a lot of pain. "We need to go, Captain," Phlox stated.

Archer was only too happy to comply. He went to Trip and helped his friend to his feet, remaining next to him, ready to lend a hand if needed. They exited as a group, moving slowly.

* * *

"Oh, Captain, I see you've found your men." Commandant Cournic joined them as they made their way down the stone corridor. "Excellent. So you'll be leaving now, I take it?"

Archer threw him a scorching glance. "Yes. We'll be departing now, Commandant. I need to get my men medical attention." The captain's voice was caustic.

"Now, Captain, really...their conditions aren't serious..."

Reed lifted his head to stare at the Commandant through his usable eye in disbelief, his jaw dropping with amazement at the statement, but he didn't say anything. It would have been a waste of energy, and he didn't have any to waste right now. Trip actually took a step toward the Commandant before Archer reached out a restraining hand. Not that police officer was in any danger. Trip was barely able to walk alone.

"Come on, guys. We're leaving. Commandant, inform your government we will be leaving orbit immediately." Archer took control of the situation, before the scene could get any more ugly. He just wanted his armory officer and engineer back safe on his ship.

* * *

Archer and the former prisoners were gone. Commandant Cournic turned to the guards who had gathered around him in his office. The formerly affable leader's affect had changed entirely, and the guards could see in him the hardness and steel that had allowed him to reach his current position. His eyes were cold, hard, as he stared around the room, meeting each of their eyes. The guards dropped their heads, watching their feet.

"I want to know," the Commandant hissed "who is responsible for this error?" He scowled at the contingent, none of whom would look at him. The guard closest to the door shuffled his feet, and then made a decision. He lifted his eyes and defiantly met his superiors gaze. "We were just following our orders."

"Whose orders?"

"The Director's. We told him they'd been taken at the market, but he said they were spies, dangerous. They were caught at Cooman's shop. Redhanded! The Director told us what he wanted to know." The guard shrugged. "He said to get the information, whatever it took."

"And he didn't bother to check their identities? Or check their stories? He just arrested and questioned two visiting officers from one of the most powerful Starships ever to visit Dorlog? We're lucky we aren't at war with these people!"

The guard shrugged again. "You know how the Director can be."

Commandant Cournic sighed. He did know. "Not a word of this. Not to anyone. It never happened."

"But, Sir...Cooman's people...they'll be asking after him."

"Not a word! I'll tidy up the loose ends, and report this to the Mayor. I have a feeling the Director will be 'stepping down' from his position. Now, back to your duties, and again, I warn you, not a word if you value your jobs."

* * *

The shuttlepod was a mercifully short distance away. When they reached it, Trip climbed in gingerly, trying to protect his injured ribs and to ignore his still pounding head. He turned to help, but the captain and Phlox had already helped Reed in. The doctor scrambled to arrange the seats into couches, and within a few minutes he was able to make Reed more comfortable. Trip watched this in stony silence, ignoring his own aching body.

"Commander, why don't you lie down, too?" the doctor suggested, gesturing at the seats on the other side of the shuttle. Trip shook his head in negation.

"Trip," Archer called from the front of the shuttlepod. "Are you feeling well enough to help me?"

"Ummm, Captain, I don't think that is a very good idea. Some of the medication I gave Commander Tucker is very powerful. It probably hasn't taken full affect yet. You don't want a co-pilot who falls asleep at the controls, now do you?" Phlox interjected.

"No, I guess I don't. Trip, sit or lie wherever you're most comfortable. If you want to sit up here we can talk."

Trip's stomach clenched. He didn't want to talk. Not to Archer, not to Phlox, and not to Reed. Certainly not to Reed. What could he say? He had been feeling better—probably due to whatever Phlox had pumped him full of—but now he was tense again. Reluctantly he took the co-pilot's seat, wondering how he could avoid the conversation he was sure the captain wanted to have.

Reed was blissfully unaware of any of this. Upon reaching the safety of the shuttle, and the haven of the soft couches, he had surrendered to the painkillers and allowed a sweet, pain free darkness to claim him. Phlox watched it happen. Once there was no danger of causing pain to his patient he began a more thorough examination than he'd been able to conduct in the cell. He winced at each new injury he found, but ultimately decided his patient's life was in no danger. He left the sleeping officer and went to the front of the shuttlepod.

"He'll be all right. He'll need some time, but eventually should recover fully. Commander, I'd like to take a better look at you now."

Archer relaxed at the news that Reed would recover. He noticed that Trip, who had managed to fight off what the doctor had intended to be a large dose of tranquilizer, didn't. Archer was puzzled. He had assumed Trip's tension was due to concern over Reed's injuries and the uncertainty of his condition, but even learning his crewmate's life was not in danger didn't put him at ease.

"How bad is he hurt, Doc?" Trip asked, ignoring the suggestion that the doctor examine him. Archer realized this was the first time Trip had spoken since leaving the cell. The engineer's voice had a harsh, rough sound.

Phlox considered the issue of patient confidentiality, but decided he was just explaining what they had seen for themselves. "Well, let's see. His right hand is broken- all four fingers, and a bone in the back of the hand. Obviously he has two black eyes, but I don't think there is any damage to the orbits. His mandible is cracked—but I won't need to set it. He has several cracked ribs, two broken ones, and he's generally bruised. There are some other minor injuries, but I'll worry about those back on the ship. He has some rather odd little burns, too. I don't know what caused those, but they must be painful."

Phlox sounded too cheerful to be discussing the injuries of a crewmate. Archer had to remind himself that the doctor's intonation was due to his cultural heritage, and didn't really reflect happiness. As he listened to the doctor's report, Archer began to truly despise the Dorlogians. He glanced at Trip. "And what is Mr. Tucker's condition?" The doctor, who had been discreetly conducting an examination, hesitated. He looked at Trip for permission. Trip said nothing. Archer watched from the corner of his eye while he navigated the shuttlepod. He didn't understand what was going on, and he didn't like not knowing. "Trip?"

Trip looked at the captain, and for the first time Archer realized how lost his friend really looked. Phlox looked back and forth between the two as they locked eyes. When Trip finally dropped his head and nodded, Phlox spoke.

"Commander Tucker, you have a deep head laceration and a concussion. Fortunately, there was no bleeding on your brain. You have three cracked ribs, and various strained muscles, particularly in your neck, and severe bruising. And....Commander, let me see your hand." Phlox took Trip's left hand and scanned it more closely. "Hmmm, you have a badly sprained wrist. And those odd little burns. Commander, would you care to enlighten me about what caused those?"

"No, I wouldn't."

"It would make it easier for me to treat them."

"Don't need treating. Ask Malcolm, if you're that curious."

"Mr. Reed is very soundly asleep. I'd like to tend to them before he wakes. It would be more comfortable".

Guilt. They would use his guilt against him. They couldn't know, could they? What had the Commandant told them? Trip relented. "I don't know for sure, doctor. It might have been the heated metal rod..." His voice trembled and broke. He turned to stare out the shuttlepod viewscreen, not finishing.

Archer forced himself to, once again, wrestle his own emotions back under control as he watched his friend repetitively clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to cope with the nearly unbearable strain. Archer was distressed by Trip's mental state, by the way he was clearly distancing himself from them. Archer needed to know what had happened to his officers, but neither Trip nor the unconscious Reed was likely to be shedding light anytime soon. Archer drew a deep breath. He would have to be patient, and being patient was something he was notoriously bad at.

* * *

Doctor Phlox normally enjoyed the quiet hours of the evening, when much of the ship was sleeping. Tonight, however, the quiet hours hadn't been quiet at all. First, the captain had paged him three times in an hour. That was a bit excessive, the doctor thought, but understandable. Then Commander Tucker had finally obeyed the order to come to sickbay, where he had stood just inside the door, refusing to enter any further. He simply stared across the room to where Malcolm was sleeping.

"He'll be fine, Commander," Phlox had assured him.

"Oh, yeah?" Trip had challenged him in a low voice. "How do you know that? You don't know what happened down there. What makes you think you know how he'll react? You don't know him that well."

"True," the doctor replied, unperturbed. "But I know what it takes to be a Starfleet officer. I know what it took to get selected to be on this crew. There isn't a person on this ship who can't overcome great adversity. I have great confidence that Mr. Reed will be fine. And so will you, Commander. But I wish you'd let me help you. You still need medical treatment. I allowed you to stop at your quarters with the understanding you would report to sickbay immediately after that." The doctor's voice softened. "I know you're in pain. I can help. I'd like to treat those burns, if nothing else, so they don't become infected."

"They won't."

"Oh, you're a doctor now, too? Really, Commander, you aren't setting a good example..."

It was the wrong thing to say. Trip wheeled on him with unexpected ferocity. "Who says I want to be a good example? I can't always be. I'm just a human guy doing the best I can out here, and I...I..." he stopped, embarrassed. His face was red with anger. He knew he should apologize to the doctor, but he couldn't, not now. He turned to storm out, but a strong arm caught him.

"Commander. I didn't want to push this issue, but you won't cooperate. I'm keeping you here on a medical hold until you allow me to finish treatment."

Trip huffed at this, and started to protest, but he knew it was futile. Besides, what did he care? What did any of it matter? He'd be debriefed soon, and everyone would know what had happened. So what was the point in fighting now?

"Fine." The word was curt.

The doctor took advantage of his sudden cooperation and led him towards the biobed next to Reed's, but the engineer balked.

"No. Not this one. Not here.

"This is the most convenient location..." the doctor tried.

"No, Doc. Either let me move, or call security to keep me here." With that, Trip got up and walked across sickbay to the corner furthest from the biobed where Reed slept. He climbed on it, trying not to jar his ribs. He stared at the far wall, refusing to look at either Phlox or the sleeping armory officer.

Phlox decided that compromising on the biobed choice was a small price to pay to keep security out of sickbay. He picked up some balm, a hypospray, and a few other supplies and went to the engineer. Trip observed this preparation with trepidation.

"What's all that for?" he asked.

"Relax, Commander. Lie down, please. Oh, take your shirt off first."

Trip obeyed, eyeing the doctor warily. Phlox noted the engineer's nervousness; Trip had never seemed particularly fearful in sickbay before. But he was more concerned about the burns on the engineer's chest. He gently covered them with the balm. "Commander, this is an anesthetic and antibacterial balm. It should prevent infection, and relieve the discomfort." He took another medication and applied it to the bruises. He wrapped Trip's torso tightly, to support the cracked ribs. He examined the laceration on the engineer's head, and pronounced it in need of dermasealing, an action he quickly performed. He applied yet another cream, and a bandage, and then stood back to observe his work. He conducted a quick neurological exam, and smiled at his patient.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?"

There was no response. Phlox continued studying his patient, mentally noting the downcast eyes and depressed affect. He was trying to think of something encouraging to say when he heard muttering from the other biobed.

"No." The word was somewhat muffled but still clear enough. "No. Please. I don't know. I truly don't know!" The last words were pleading, the fear clear.

Phlox was looking at Trip when Reed started speaking, and he saw the blood drain from the engineer's face. The doctor made a quick mental note of the reaction and then hurried to the other biobed to try to wake Reed from the nightmare. He turned back to Trip, meaning to ask a question, but the engineer was gone.

* * *

When Trip left sickbay, he didn't know where he was heading. All he knew was that he had to get out of sickbay, away from the reminder of his crime. He didn't want to see anyone, and hoped that he wouldn't encounter any of his engineering crew in the hallways. He had a sudden desire to find Travis' favorite hideout, the "sweet spot" on the ship, but climbing through access tubes was a physical impossibility at the moment. In fact, he'd be fortunate to get to his own quarters safely. He had shunned all help from the moment they had returned to Enterprise. He'd watched as Malcolm had been gently loaded onto a gurney, but refused any assistance offered to him. The truth was, he hurt everywhere, he was dizzy, and even the short walk through the Enterprise corridors was making him feel faint. He still hadn't eaten. How long had it been now? There had been some doughy bread-like sticks that Hoshi had insisted he eat at one point back in the cell, but that was all. Thinking about eating made his stomach growl, and he could no longer deny the hunger. Despite not wanting to face the crowd, he headed toward the messhall.

* * *

"Commander! It's good to see you!" Travis spotted him as he entered, greeting him enthusiastically, ruining his plan to try to grab something and escape unnoticed. Heads turned, and suddenly crewman surrounded him. They were smiling, putting their hands on his shoulder, welcoming him back. He flinched as the crowd jostled him.

"Welcome back, Sir" "Good to have you back!" "How are you feeling, Sir?" "When will you be back on duty, Sir?" The voices blurred together, as he saw their happy, smiling faces. They were obviously genuinely delighted to see him. 'What would they think if they knew the truth?' he wondered. He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat, as he realized how much he would miss the camaraderie and the friendships.

"It's great to see you guys," he said, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. "But I have to go now." He backed up, working his way out of the crowd until he could make his escape. He didn't notice Hoshi studying him from across the room.

Hoshi watched as Trip left, still without dinner. She knew how hungry he must be—even though she'd been fairly well fed in the jail, it had still been a prison ration. She'd returned to the ship ravenous. He hadn't been fed at all during the first three days of imprisonment, and as near as she could tell, he hadn't eaten since.

Travis noticed Hoshi staring at the food choices. "Not finding what you want? I know where you can get some wonderfully doughy breadsticks," he joked. She smiled at him, appreciating his attempt to lighten her mood. She knew he was worried, too.

"Commander Tucker left without dinner. I don't think he's eaten yet. Do you think the Captain knows?"

"I doubt it. Do you want to take him some food?"

Hoshi nodded. "Any suggestions?"

"He likes meatloaf."

"Travis, you don't eat meatloaf, especially not resequenced meatloaf, when you haven't eaten in days."

"I guess not." Travis considered the potential selections. "How bout some pudding, and some soup, and maybe some mashed potatoes?" Hoshi rolled her eyes at the odd combination, but Travis was already preparing a tray.

* * *

Trip stared at the barely touched plate. It had been kind of them to bring it to him. He managed a slight smile as he remembered Travis stumbling through an explanation of the odd combination of foods, which had grown to include a slice of pecan pie. He just wished he could eat it. He had picked at it enough to satisfy them, and then he'd convinced them to leave so he could rest.

Rest. The idea was like a cruel joke. He couldn't close his eyes without the images crowding in; they replayed in his mind over and over again. And now the soundtrack of Reed's nightmare had been added. He lay on his soft, comfortable bunk hearing the pleading words over and over.

When he could bear it no longer, Trip struggled to his feet, donned a clean uniform and resolutely headed toward the Captain's cabin.


	5. Chapter 5

Archer put the padd down on the table beside his bed. He was trying to concentrate on routine ship's business, but he couldn't keep his mind focused. His determination to find out what had happened on the planet kept intruding. He had been tempted to insist that Trip tell him immediately, but the engineer needed medical treatment, food, and rest. He could have asked Hoshi and Travis, but they hadn't mentioned anything in their debriefing and he was fairly certain they didn't know anything beyond what they had told him. Both ensigns had been shaken by the events; he'd given them a few days off-duty and he didn't want to bother them if he didn't need to. Neither would admit it, but they'd been very frightened to be arrested, and by what had happened to Tucker and Reed. Speaking of Reed...

"Archer to sickbay".

"Yes, Captain?"

"How is it going down there?"

"It's almost precisely the same as it was fifteen minutes ago when you asked. Lieutenant Reed is still asleep, and will be for some time yet—I've sedated him rather heavily. Commander Tucker did finally come to sickbay, but refused to stay here. I imagine he is in his quarters..."

"Thank you, Doctor." Archer was a little embarrassed to be acting like a mother hen, but he couldn't seem to help it. He cared about his crew. He picked the padd up again, determined to finish reading the most recent evaluation of sensor efficiency, but was happy to put it down again when he heard the door chime.

"Come in," he called, expecting T'Pol. She had the somewhat disconcerting ability to sense when he was troubled, and frequently showed up at his quarters on those occasions to inquire about his well-being. He hadn't given her many details about what had happened to the away team—he had none to give—and he knew that, despite her insistence to the contrary, she was curious.

He was surprised when the door slid open to reveal Trip.

"Commander. Come in. I thought you'd be sleeping." 'Which is exactly what you should be doing,' Jonathan mentally added. The engineer looked terrible. Although he was now clean and in a fresh uniform, Trip's appearance had not substantially improved. He was pallid, the paleness more noticeable because of his bruises. Although he was trying to stand straight, he was hunched slightly to one side, and looked ready to topple over at any instant.

"No, Sir. I thought you might want to conduct the debriefing now."

"Trip, really this can wait until you've had some sleep, some food..." Archer beckoned his friend in, gesturing at a chair.

"I've had both," Trip interrupted. "Not a lot, but enough. I'd really like to get this over with."

To Archer, the engineer sounded...haunted. It was obvious Trip needed to tell his story. And on some level Jonathan was pleased. His own curiosity would finally be satisfied.

"Okay, Trip. Go ahead." Archer reached over to the computer and hit a button to start recording . "After-action report. First contact- Dorlog. Date 20 May 2152. Interview with Commander Charles Tucker."

Trip took a deep breath, and let it out, slowly. In a few minutes, everything would be changed. While he dreaded talking, he was desperate to alleviate the gnawing pain that was eating at him, occupying his every thought. Yet, despite his desperate desire to get the debriefing over, he was unsure how to begin. He took another deep breath, and forced himself to begin speaking.

"First of all...this is all my fault. I was in charge of the away team...wouldn't listen to Malcolm when he warned me about the merchant, and then...well..." Trip hesitated so long that Archer didn't think he would continue. "Captain..." the anguish in Trip's voice was palpable, "I betrayed Malcolm."

Archer didn't understand what his engineer meant. "Trip," he said gently. "I'm sure that isn't true. Why don't you start from the beginning, and tell me exactly what happened." Archer rose and went to his desk to flip on his water heater. Almost instantly it reached a temperature hot enough to boil water. He put a mug of water on it, and when it boiled he dropped a tea bag in, and set it aside to steep. He prepared another mug similarly, and then returned with the tea to sit across from his friend. Archer added some honey to his beverage, and offered the jar to the engineer. Trip shook his head. He refused to meet the captain's eyes.

"Now, Commander, why don't you try starting from the very beginning...you arrived on the planet..."

Trip took a deep breath. "Yes, Sir. As you know, we landed on Dorlog safely. I decided that leaving the shuttlepod at the Central Shuttleport without a guard was fine. I argued with Malcolm about it for a while."

A ghost of a smile crossed Archer's lips. Of course. Malcolm would never have willingly agreed to leave a shuttlepod unguarded in a public place, regardless of the apparent safety of the area.

"...and then we started walking. I left Hoshi and Travis to shop while Malcolm and I..." Trip allowed the memories and images he had been so desperately fighting to return. He began to speak, remembering...

* * *

The shuttlepod landed so gently Trip barely felt it make contact with the ground. "Nice job, Travis," he declared, rising and clapping the helmsman on the shoulder. We'll make a pilot outa you yet!"

Mayweather grinned, used to the engineer's teasing.

"Come on, gang. The market is about a fifteen minute walk from here."

"Commander—"

"Malcolm, I do not want to hear it. This place is safe. We have permission to visit. This is a shuttleport. It is meant for leaving shuttlepods."

"It is not a good idea to leave it here, unsecured. We should leave someone with it," Malcolm insisted. He had already lost this argument back on Enterprise; hence he had not been allowed to bring one of his security officers with them.

"Like who? Want to leave Hoshi here? Or Travis?"

Reed held his ground. "It might be best if either Travis or I DO stay—" Travis looked decidedly unenthusiastic at this idea, but he didn't need to worry.

"Lieutenant, this discussion is over. We—all of us—are going to the market. Now, come on, and quit ruining the fun."

Malcolm didn't say anything more, appearing unhappily resigned to the situation. Trip thought his friend must have become accustomed to being accused of being paranoid and of being overridden on security matters. Still, he gamely continued to insist they pay attention to security concerns. Trip smiled inwardly.

It was a beautiful day, and Trip enjoyed the walk. He noticed that even Malcolm's mood lifted. The air had an amber glow, caused by some atmospheric condition Trip didn't understand, and it gave everything a warm glow that was both unusual and very pleasant. Travis and Hoshi were talking, and laughing, enjoying themselves and the rare opportunity to visit a new world. Trip picked up his pace a little and joined them.

"Okay," Trip announced a short while later, while studying his scanner. "We're only a few minutes from the market. Hoshi, Travis, I want you to stay out in the main square. Go ahead and take a look around, see if there is anything that might be of interest to us. Hoshi, talk to the people, see what you can pick up of the language. We'll come get you once we've found this shopkeeper. Malcolm, come on."

Reed looked unhappy again at the idea of splitting up the team, but he kept silent. Hoshi and Travis started toward the main square while Trip viewed his scanner, checking the directions and information they had been given about the shop they were to visit.

"Looks like it should be about one hundred meters...this way." Trip started off, his eyes alternately watching the device in his hand and looking up for the shop.

"What is the name of the gentleman we're meeting?" Reed asked. He was looking sharply around, alert to anything out of the ordinary.

"Cooman. Supposed to be some sort of trade negotiator. The captain heard if he can't get something we need, he can direct us to someone who can. Apparently he runs a trade co-op of some sort." Trip looked up at the buildings lining the square again. "There! I think that's it...I guess I should have kept Hoshi with us after all. I guess I'll just have to ask inside."

"It looks rather abandoned," Reed noted. Most of the shops surrounding them were well lit and crowded with shoppers. Not Cooman's shop. Trip noticed that Reed was looking around even more carefully, observing the people in the area; the armory officer looked uneasy.

"Commander, are you sure this is the right shop? They don't seem to have anything much to offer..."

"Lets take a look inside." Trip wasn't too concerned. The shop they wanted would not be likely to draw casual shoppers or tourists. He rang the bell to the shop. As he waited for answer, he noted that Reed was still standing on the walkway and hadn't approached the shop door.

"Malcolm, are you coming?"

"Sir, I think it would be wise if I waited out here. I'd like to keep an eye on things." Reed said quietly.

"Lieutenant, I do not want to offend our host by implying we don't trust him and we need to post a guard. Now come on, already! I'd like to get this done and have time to pick up some souvenirs in the market."

"Sir—"

"Lieutenant," Trip sighed. "I know it is your job to be cautious. I do. And I appreciate it. But you're driving me nuts. Get up here." No one had responded to the ringing bell, so Trip turned and opened the heavy door to the shop, and stepped in. Shaking his head unhappily, Reed followed.

The interior of the shop was dark, and it was cool inside. It wasn't a comforting coolness, as some old shops have, but instead had a musty, damp feel. Trip looked around, wondering. This was a shop that was supposed to have advanced technological parts for sale? Trip felt a small warning in the back of his brain, but he pushed it aside. There were two men in the shop, both behind the counter. From the corner of his eye, Trip saw Reed's expression tighten, and Trip felt his own personal alertness increase a notch. There was something about the expression on the alien faces that puzzled him; Trip couldn't place the emotion. The beings spotted their new customers, and the expressions quickly changed, smoothing over.

Trip approached them, making a concerted effort to remain relaxed. "I'm looking for Merchant Cooman. Might one of you gentlemen be him?"

"I'm Merchant Cooman." The shorter of the two aliens leaned forward, tapping himself on the shoulder. The aliens were humanoid, about the height of humans, but very broad chested, with arms that hung in a way that was, to human eyes, disjointed. Their skin was a tannish color, except for their ears, which to Trips amusement constantly seemed to be changing color. Later he would realize that the changes reflected mood. The alien faces were broader, their eyes set at what would nearly be the temples of humans.

"Pleased ta meet ya, Merchant Cooman," Trip replied. "I think our captain spoke to you. We'd like to make some arrangements for some supplies we need, mostly repair parts. We heard that you were the person who could get them for us."

The merchant moved forward, and Trip was struck by how awkward his movements seemed. He saw Reed stepping back, to better study the other Dorlogian, who had remained quiet and still. Trip could see from the way he moved that Reed was in full alert mode. Trip tried to ignore his crewmate while continuing to talk to Cooman, explaining what they needed, but he was interrupted.

"Commander!"

"What, Malcolm?" Trip was exasperated.

"Could I speak with you for a moment?"

"I'm kind of in the middle of something here, Lieutenant."

"Sir, it's important."

Trip sighed. "If you'll excuse me Merchant Cooman." Irritated, Trip strode over to the armory officer. "What is it?"

"Sir, we need to get out of here. Now. Something is wrong. Something is going on here...that other man...he may have a weapon..."

Trip considered. "You sure?"

"Not entirely," Reed admitted. "I saw something in his hand, but couldn't tell precisely what it was. But every instinct is telling me we should get out of this place."

"I appreciate your caution, Malcolm. It will only be another moment. I just want to place our order, and we can leave."

"Sir, we really should get out of here. Perhaps we can return later, when things have settled down."

"I'm not leaving without ordering the stuff we need. So hold your horses."

"I'd like to wait outside, keep an eye on things."

"No," Trip said, not knowing why, other than the fact that he was annoyed with the armory officer. "You stay right where ya are."

Malcolm turned red, but he fell silent. He continued to keep a wary eye on the merchants. Trip considered that as annoying as Reed's paranoia might be, the armory officer might have a point. They were in a strange place, and it might be wise to bear that in mind.

"Commander? Is that how I should address you?" Cooman asked hesitantly.

"That'll do fine," Trip smiled.

"You're asking for some very interesting items. Not my normal stock at all. Do you mind my asking if you have any...affiliations...I should be aware of?" As he spoke the shopkeeper glanced nervously at the silent man by his side.

"Huh?" Trip was puzzled. "We're from Starfleet—that's an organization on our home planet. Is that what you mean?"

Cooman smiled slightly and shook his head. "No, I don't mean official government organizations. I was just wondering if there was anything else I should know about your...employers? So I can adjust my record keeping accordingly?"

Trip simply gazed back at him, unable to determine what the shopkeeper was attempting to communicate, but Reed, who had stepped closer to hear the conversation, understood immediately.

"Commander," he said in a low voice, "he's referring to any underground type organizations. He wants to know if he needs to keep this transaction in separate books- books that probably aren't ever shown to their planetary authorities."

Cooman smiled broadly, relieved that his message had finally gotten through. "Don't misunderstand me, gentlemen. I don't deal in that sort of thing myself. But some of my customers like to keep all their activities...private. And these items," Cooman glanced down at the list Trip has supplied again, "could draw some attention."

"It's not a problem for us, Merchant Cooman," Trip reassured him.

"Very well then—"

"Commander!" Reed spoke urgently again. "Something is going on in the square. It's being overrun with police officers, and—"

"No!" Cooman cried out. "Not today!" Frantically the merchant began gathering up the books on the counter. "Quick, out of here! Get out of here."

Trip was too surprised to respond immediately, and then it was too late. The door to the shop was pushed open with such violence that it swung forward, hit the wall, and bounced back. Before it could close again, several of the policeman from the square had entered.

"This is a preventive security sweep. Everyone out," the officer in the lead announced. Reed and Tucker stood stunned, while Cooman began babbling. "Of course, officers. We're coming right out. Please let me put my books away and lock up—"

"No time, Merchant. Who are these men?" the policeman gestured at the Starfleet officers.

"Customers, Officer. Just customers." The second Dorlogian merchant had been standing silently behind Cooman throughout.

"Who is this Cooman?" the officer demanded. The merchant turned a shade that Trip could only guess was the equivalent to "pale" in humans.

"Oh...oh, he's a customer, too." Cooman continued speaking swiftly, trying to reassure the police officers. Trip could hear the commotion outside. Glancing out, he saw that everyone who had been in the market was being loaded into vehicles. He looked for Travis and Hoshi, but couldn't see them.

"All right, I haven't got all day," the officer who seemed to be in charge bellowed.

"Everyone out to the vehicles. We'll sort this all out at the Center."

"Excuse me," Trip interjected. "What Center? We're visitors here. We have permission to visit. If you let us return to our shuttlepod, we'll be going." As he spoke they were herded outside.

"No exceptions. You were in the market when a preventive sweep was conducted, you have to get verified. Come on." The officer was hurried. He knew it would be a long day. He hated the preventive sweeps. It took so long to get everyone to the Center, process them, feed them, and finally get the identity verifications started. He wouldn't be home until late. These thoughts distracting him he moved toward the second merchant who had remained silent behind the counter, and grabbed for his arm, hoping to move him more quickly out of the shop.

Trip didn't see precisely what happened inside the shop at that point from his vantage point just outside the door. Hearing the sound of a weapon charging, he spun around to see the Dorlogian merchant, whose name he had never learned, holding a weapon pointed levelly at the police officer, who was now on the ground.

"I'll be leaving now," the alien commented coolly. He raised the weapon to point it at each of the officers in turn, backing slowly away. He reached behind him to open a door behind the counter that Trip guessed led to an exit. Without ever taking his eyes off them, the Dorlogian stepped back through the door, and pulled it closed. Immediately two of the officers pursued him. Trip suspected they would never find the man. He had been too calm; he obviously had a plan.

The attitude of the remaining police officers changed instantly. While before they had simply been performing a routine chore, they now found themselves in what could be a dangerous situation. They had stumbled on to something big. The officer closest to Trip reached and grabbed for the engineer's arm, pulling him roughly away from the vehicle that a moment ago he had been urging him towards. Trip reacted instinctively. He yanked his arm free and took a step back. The response from the edgy officer was immediate. A stick came down on Trip's head, hard, and the engineer crumpled into unconsciousness.

* * *

"I guess Hoshi and Travis saw it happen. I don't know what happened to Malcolm." Trip stopped and took a deep breath. He reached for his tea and took a deep swallow. He winced at the heat against his still sore throat, but took another swallow before continuing.

"When I came round, I was in the cell. I had a splitting headache. Everything was blurry. Malcolm was there, too. He was okay. Mad as hell, but okay. Not like..." he choked on the words and couldn't finish the sentence. "I thought they'd come question us, and things would get straightened out. But it didn't happen like that."

Trip stopped again, looking down at the carpet, unable to meet the captain's eyes. Archer could see anguish on his face, and when he finally looked up Archer saw something he'd never expected to see in his friend's eyes: desolation.

* * *

Reed stirred slightly in restless sleep, and Phlox moved immediately to his side. The doctor had been keeping a close eye on the lieutenant since his earlier nightmare. By the time the doctor got to the biobed that first time, Reed had quieted, and the doctor decided against wakening him, but he had no intention of letting his patient suffer that sort of terror again. His patient's blood pressure and pulse had skyrocketed, and in his weakened condition he didn't need that sort of stress. This time though, there was neither pain nor fear in Reed's voice when he began to speak in his drug-induced sleep. There was only sorrow and grief.

"I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry," the injured officer mumbled. "Please, I tried. I'm so sorry..." Phlox debated wakening his patient, but Reed quieted again, leaving Phlox to stare at him and wonder.

* * *

"A Dorlogian, a guard or police officer, I don't know which, came and asked us our names. We told him, of course. We told him we were visitors, that we'd been granted permission to visit, but he wasn't really interested. He told me he to follow him. They took me out of the cell and left Reed sitting there. They knew I was senior. We told them- and they could see the rank." Trip paused. "Captain, can I have a glass of water?" He'd finished his tea in a few long gulps. Archer nodded and wordlessly got the glass of liquid. He didn't want to speak and interrupt Trip. He wasn't sure if his friend would be able to get started again.

"Thanks, Captain. Well, they...they took me to this room..." Trip's hands were trembling, and he was sweating. "It was cold. That was the first thing I really noticed. Then I saw that they had the merchant—Cooman was his name—there, too. I thought that would be good. He could vouch for us as his customers, ya know? But then I saw that he was scared, real scared. Another Dorlogian came in, one I hadn't seen before..." Trip shuddered at the memory. He was staring into space, not looking at Archer, not even really seeming to be fully aware of the captain as he relived the memory.

* * *

"Tucker?"

Trip nodded assent cautiously. "Yes, I'm Commander Tucker."

"I'm Corzac, Director of the Dorlogian Protective Forces Special Security Unit. I have a few questions to ask of you."

"All right," Trip replied, still a bit cautiously.

"First, who are you? I know your name, but who do you work for?" the Director asked calmly.

"As I told that guard back there, I am from a planet called Earth. I belong to an organization called Starfleet," Trip replied. Why did he have to keep repeating this information? His head hurt badly from the blow it had taken earlier, and it was making him irritable.

"What is the purpose of your Starfleet? What is your position in it?" the Director ignored Trip's tone. "

"We're explorers. We...we just explore space. Look for people we haven't met before. Like you Dorlogians." Trip was starting to feel a little more relaxed. These seemed like routine enough questions. "I'm the Chief Engineer for our ship. We enjoy meeting new people." He paused, and then added, "We told your government all this, when we filled out the visitor forms. We have permission to be here, you know. And to talk to your merchant."

"Ah, yes, Merchant Cooman. How, exactly, did you select Merchant Cooman to visit?"

Trip wondered that very thing himself. "I don't really know, Director. My captain and our science officer arranged the meeting. I was just told who to meet, and where."

"Well, I have to tell you, Tucker, that I find that a little odd. You arrive from a place I've never heard of, and you visit a merchant well known for trafficking in illegal goods, among other things, asking how to find certain supplies that are pretty rare—at least on Dorlog. So forgive me if I find this all rather curious."

Trip shifted uncomfortably. Hearing it that way, it _did_ sound rather suspicious. Corzac was staring at him intently with the barest hint of a smile. Trip didn't like the smile at all. It was predatory. He shivered. "I'm afraid I don't know what else to tell you, Director. Everything I've told you is the truth."

"Is it? Tell me, what organizations is Starfleet aligned with? Are they part of any larger conglomerates?"

Trip wrinkled his forehead in confusion, and wished he wasn't feeling so lightheaded. He could sense the danger in this conversaion, and knew that he needed to tread carefully. But it was hard to focus. He was starting to feel a little nauseous, and suspected he had a concussion, if not a more serious head injury. "Conglomerates? We're not part of any conglomerates. We don't have any other organizations we're aligned with...well, maybe the Vulcan High Command. But we're not really aligned with them. We just...well really they give us advice. And sometimes tell us what we should do..." Trip realized he wasn't explaining well, and knew he wasn't helping his cause. "They have more experience in space travel, so they advise us. Sometimes. But that's all." Trip reached up to touch his bloody head and winced.

Corzac stared at him for a few seconds more, and then abruptly turned away, beckoning for one of the two guards in the room.

"I believe I'll speak to Merchant Cooman now. I'm interested in seeing what he had to say. Bring him over here, please." The Director turned back to Trip. "Commander Tucker, you might wish to reconsider what you're willing to tell me." Trip watched as the guard walked the terrified merchant over to the Director. Corzac smiled at Cooman, and Trip was again struck by the wrongness of the smile.

"Good day, Merchant Cooman," the Director began smoothly.

"Good day, Director," the merchant squeaked, his ears a bright yellow.

"Merchant Cooman, you heard what Mr. Tucker said. I have to tell you, I'm not convinced I trust him. But as one Dorlogian to another, I have faith that you'll tell me the truth, won't you?"

Cooman nodded vigorously, obviously eager to gain the Director's favor.

"Very good. Tell me, Merchant, how did you meet this man?"

"He walked into my shop today, Director."

"Had you ever met him before?"

"No, Director."

"Had any arrangements been made for him to meet with you?"

"No, Director." The Director nodded and flipped his hand at the guard. Without warning, the guard delivered a vicious blow to the merchant's face.

"I don't think I believe you, Merchant. I'm not sure I believe everything the commander is saying, but I don't think he found your shop by accident. So I ask you again, had any arrangements been made to meet with him? Or anyone else from this Starfleet?"

Cooman nodded, his face a study in misery. "Yes, Director. As he said, his captain contacted me. Or rather he contacted a friend of mine who couldn't help them, and referred them to me. My friend told me it was likely to be a very...lucrative exchange for me. I was told to expect aliens from a place called Earth to visit the shop. That's all, Director. Really."

The Director nodded slowly, and Trip shivered as the tiny half-smile reemerged on the alien's face. "Merchant Cooman, who else was in your shop when the police officers arrived for the preventive sweep?"

The merchant's face dropped, and his ears went pale. "Pardon, Director?" His voice had gone up another octave.

The Director flicked a finger, and the guard delivered another crushing blow to the merchant, who cried out in pain, and raised his hand to his face.

"Don't play games with me, Cooman. Corman was in your shop. That was him, wasn't it, who escaped? How is it that the head of the largest smuggling conglomerate in this part of the galaxy just happened to be in your shop at the same time that these 'visitors', who claim to be from another part of space were? That seems like more than coincidence to me."

It seemed that way to Trip, too, but he didn't think it wise to say anything.

"I know, Director!" the merchant cried in terror. "But I can't explain it! It was a coincidence...and I didn't know that the other customer was Corman. I run a reputable shop! I don't—" he was interrupted by another vicious blow, this one to his belly. He gasped.

The Director studied him, and then glanced over at Trip, seeming to suddenly remember the Starfleet officer. He looked back at the merchant. "I'm sorry, Merchant Cooman. I don't think I believe you. I'm sorry you aren't being honest with me; I'm afraid I'm going to have to become more insistent." He motioned to the guard. The merchant was yanked from his seat, and the guard pulled him to the other side of the room.

The Director turned his attention to Trip. "You see, Mr. Tucker, I really find it impossible to believe your story. Let me tell you what I think. I think you had arranged to meet Corman at Cooman's shop. I think it was your intention to exchange information with him. Perhaps you weren't even interested in purchasing supplies. Perhaps you had something to sell him? Weapons are very scarce and controlled here on Dorlog. There are factions who would do anything they could to get their hands on powerful weapons, such as your ship has. Dorlog is at a strategic location in this sector, and there are those who would like to gain control of our trade market." There was a cry of pain from the merchant on the other side of the room, but Corzac ignored it. " So I guess what I want to know is why exactly you were meeting with one of the most powerful criminals in the sector at the shop of a man that has been known to sell technological secrets to criminals, and to facilitate all sorts of illegal activities. I'd really like to know."

"So would I," Trip muttered. His head was snapped back by a blow to his chin.

"I think I would take this conversation a little more seriously, if I were you."

Trip nodded, and as he looked at the Director's cold, cold eyes, he knew fear. Corzac seemed satisfied, and he turned and went to the second guard who had, until this point, remained silent and motionless. The Director spoke quietly—Trip couldn't hear the words—and the guard nodded, his eyes never leaving his superior's face. When he was finished speaking, Corzac left without a backward glance.

The guard came to Trip, his face expressionless. "I need to ask you several questions. Make it easy on yourself, and just tell me the truth." Trip sat silent.

* * *

Trip didn't know how long it went on. The guard asked him the same questions the Director had asked, over and over. He answered honestly; he truly knew nothing about any smuggling rings, any plans for a large weapons sale, any planned insurrections. He couldn't give them the information they wanted, but they remained unconvinced, and each of his denials brought another blow. He could hear Cooman being questioned as well. Trip had been feeling foggy even before the questioning, and now the repeated blows to his body were making it hard for him to hold onto consciousness. He could hear Cooman pleading with the guards to leave him alone.

"I'll tell you!" the merchant moaned. "I'll tell you everything."

"You have my undivided attention, Merchant Cooman," the Director, who hadreturned at some point, purred.

"I didn't know what they were going to do! I swear! I didn't know they had arranged for Corman to meet them at my shop. But when they started talking...they're going to sell weapons off their ship to Corman...or maybe just give him the technical specifications...I'm not sure which."

"Thank you, Merchant," the Director was pleased. "Of course, I'm still not sure I entirely believe you. We'll need you to answer a few more questions."

* * *

Trip heard Cooman's statement, and knew instantly that he was in trouble. It was obvious to him, and he thought it should be to everyone present, that Cooman was lying, would say anything to get the abuse to stop. However, the merchant had provided the excuse the Director needed. Some of the questions that Trip had been asked had made him start to wonder if Corzac didn't have an agenda beyond simply catching smugglers. The Director wanted information about Enterprise, and now he had the perfect excuse to try to get it. Things were about to get very ugly, Trip feared. His concern was validated almost immediately as he was yanked roughly to his feet.

"Mr. Tucker, what exactly can you tell me about your ship's weapons?"

* * *

Trip lost track of time. At some point he became aware that he was screaming, and that he was freezing. He could hear Cooman screaming, too, and he wondered what other lies they might have extracted from the unfortunate man. Trip didn't know if Cooman was a criminal or not, but he didn't think it wasn't right that he should suffer so much. Trip was fading, awareness slowly slipping away. He was brought back to his senses with a rough slap just as Cooman fell quiet. The sudden silence in the room was startling. And then there was a flurry of activity, and raised voices.

"What did you do to him?"

"I was just questioning him...you saw me!"

"Were you monitoring him?"

"Of course!"

"Well then why is he dead?"

"He can't be!"

"He is! He must have had some sort of condition...did anyone check?"

"Get the Director!"

* * *

They had killed the merchant, Trip realized with shock. They had been torturing the man relentlessly, having long since quit asking about Trip or the plan to sell weapons, instead moving on to trying to get information about the smuggling syndicates the merchant dealt with. He had not been willing to answer, and Trip was sure the merchant's fear of the consequences of revealing the names of the powerful criminals was greater than his fear of the Director, and they had killed him for it. Perhaps it was an accident, but he was dead nonetheless. That they could be so ruthless as to actually torture a man to death frightened Trip to his very core. He knew it wasn't reasonable, but he felt he was somehow to blame. Surely there was something he could have done—made up a more feasible story or protected the merchant somehow. The horror of the incident threatened to overwhelm him, and his beleaguered mind forced the image out of his conscious mind. The questioning resumed.

* * *

"They were asking me about stuff I did know the answers to, but I couldn't tell them. Stuff about the Warp Five engine, and about weapons and such." Trip paused again, trying to catch his breath, not wanting to think about what he had to say next. He seemd fascinated by his boots, not looking at Archer as he continued.

"They decided they really wanted to know about the weapons. They put me on a table, and they tied me down, and started asking serious questions. They burned me, Captain. They had electric prods, and hot metal, and I don't know what else." His voice cracked, and Archer knew he wouldn't be able to go on much longer. He reached out a hand and placed it on his friend's shoulder. Trip's response was violent.

"Don't touch me, Captain! Don't try to make me feel better! You don't know what I did yet!"

Archer flinched at the violence of the response. "Okay, Trip," Archer tried to soothe his friend. "Tell me then".

Trip glared at him, knowing he was being patronized, and hating it. Then he dropped his head again, despondent.

"Trip," Archer encouraged, "you're almost there. Just tell me what happened. It will be okay. I promise you."

"No," Trip replied, in a voice Archer had never heard him use before. "It will never be okay again."

* * *

In sickbay, Reed opened his eyes. Or rather, he tried to open his eyes.

"Doctor," he said. At least, that was what he meant to say. It came out a whispered, "Doc."

"Yes, Lieutenant?" Phlox was at his side almost immediately.

"What..."

"Hold on a moment, Mr. Reed," The doctor reached down, and with amazing gentleness for one with such large hands, opened Reed's eyes. "The swelling has begun to go down. I'm using one of my favorite anti-inflammatory balms." He handed Reed a wet cloth. "The balm is sticky. Rinse some of it off, and you should be able to see."

"That's better," Reed agreed, gingerly cleansing his eyes. He went on to rub the cloth softly across his entire face, enjoying the refreshing feeling. He winced when he got to his jaw.

"You cracked your mandible. It should heal by itself in about six weeks. In the mean time, eat soft foods, or don't chew on that side." Reed expression dropped at the thought of soft food for six weeks, but he didn't argue. He lay still, trying to take stock of what else might be wrong. Phlox helped him.

"You've got a couple of broken ribs, as well as some cracked ones. All the fingers on your right hand are broken, and you're about as bruised as I've ever seen a man. As for these burns..."

At the mention of the burns, Reed's face changed. It was only for an instant, and the doctor couldn't identify the emotion that flashed across his patient's face. Reed turned his head away, as though tired of looking at his own battered body. The splint on his right hand seemed to commandeer his entire attention, and he studied it, picking at it with his left hand. He wouldn't meet the doctor's eyes.

"When can I leave here?"

The doctor considered. "I want to keep you tonight for observation, and probably a day or two more. I'm concerned about the shaking your insides appear to have taken. After that though, there isn't any reason you really have to stay. You need a great deal of rest, but you can do that in your own quarters. I can give you something for the pain, and I'll stop by a few times a day. I don't think you're going to feel like doing a whole lot until those ribs get a bit healed. I'll give you some cream for the burns. But I want your word that you'll rest."

"That you have, Doctor," Reed said softly.

* * *

"I don't remember really clearly what happened. There was...it just hurt so much, Captain. I kept fading in and out. They kept asking questions I knew I shouldn't answer. But I did. I couldn't help it; I just wanted the pain to stop. I tried...I really did...Then they got to questions that were really sensitive- they could have done real damage to Enterprise. I couldn't have answered some of them even if I'da wanted to, but I could have given them some info. And I would have, Captain. I...I got to the point where I would have told them anything they wanted to know, if I could have. I've never been hurt like that." Trip broke off. Archer watched him as he re-lived the experience "So, the next time they asked me something I couldn't answer...well I just wanted to make them stop, so I said...I said..." Trip stopped, unable to continue, as he tried to choke back sobs. He dropped his head with anguish. Archer waited patiently, not reaching out this time, knowing how the action would be perceived. Finally, when the engineer seemed to be able to talk again, Archer gently probed.

"What did you say, Trip?"

"I said...I said..." Trip hiccupped, "I said 'I don't know! Ask Malcolm, he's the weapons expert!'" Trip dropped his head into his hands and wept softly, as he remembered.

* * *

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Trip regretted them. He wanted to take them back, but knew it would be futile. He couldn't unring the bell. He lay, shivering, wondering what would happen next. No one was touching him, hurting him, at the moment, and it was a tremendous relief.

After some time, a guard returned, bringing Reed with him. Malcolm immediately locked eyes with the engineer.

"Commander, are you all right?" he asked, the concern clear in his voice. Trip lay silent, unsure of what to say, and he saw Malcolm's face tighten with anger on Trip's behalf. Then Reed looked around the room, and Trip saw a hint of fear cross the armory officer's face. The guard who had been tormenting Trip just a few minutes earlier re-entered the room, and came to face Malcolm.

"Ah, Mr. Reed. We have a few questions we need to ask you. I'm sure you'll be more cooperative than your friend." The guard smirked.

Malcolm shot a look at Trip, and the engineer knew immediately how Malcolm had interpreted that statement. Trip didn't know why he did what he did next. He didn't mean to. He hadn't intended on saying anything to Reed at all. But suddenly he was overwhelmed with shame at having provided their captors with information. He had no idea how they would use it, or how serious the damage to Enterprise's security was, but he knew that Malcolm had information that could be truly damaging in the wrong hands. These Dorlogians were intently interested in Enterprise's weapons, and he had just handed them the keeper of that knowledge. So, without thinking it through, without weighing the consequences, out of his own panic and regret, he gave an order.

* * *

Trip watched as Malcolm stoically took a blow to his face, refusing to answer yet another question. Trip wished he wasn't here, that he wasn't seeing this. He didn't know how long it had been going on. His own body hurt terribly, and seeing the damage being inflicted on his friend was torture in itself. He saw Malcolm flinch at another vicious blow, and closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more. And then he heard it- a snapping crack. Malcolm cried out in pain, but then refused, again, to answer the question. Another cracking sound and this time Malcolm screamed. Trip screamed too, for Malcolm, and for himself. It was at that point his mind quietly refused to process any more of the scene. He had seen too many horrors. He faded away, and while he was gone his mind tucked the images safely away from him.

* * *

Archer sat stunned, finally understanding Trip's anguish. To have been forced into answering questions under torture was one thing—and understandable. No one could hold out forever under that kind of pressure. But to tell the interrogators that Malcolm was a weapon's expert was to sentence him to the same torture Trip had endured, and more. Knowing he was a weapons expert, they would have not listened to his claims of ignorance, even if he truly didn't know the answer. It had been a terrible thing to do. But Archer knew that even this act was not, as Trip seemed to believe, unforgivable. No one knew what they might do under that much pressure. Enough pain would cause any man to crack. And Trip had suffered. His injuries attested to that. The engineer was right too, in that he was partially responsible for Malcolm's suffering. They undoubtedly would have interrogated Reed in any event, but the severity of his injuries indicated that their knowledge of his expertise had doomed him to more aggressive questioning. Trip would have to live with that knowledge.

"Trip." Archer spoke in his firmest captain's voice. "Listen to me. It was an unfortunate thing. You didn't set out to get Malcolm hurt. It happened. No one can predict how they'll behave in that sort of situation. Have you...?"

"I haven't told you everything yet, Captain. The worst part is...as soon as I gave up Malcolm, they quit hurting me. But they left me there. They went and got him. When they brought him into the room, he could see me lying there and it was obvious I wasn't in such great shape. Captain, I was feeling bad for him, knowing what he was about to go through, but at the same time, I was relieved that they were going to leave me alone. He didn't know I had given him up to them, but he was starting to look a little worried; he knew it was going to get rough." Trip stopped, unable to continue for the moment, but this time he didn't break down. His voice had gone cold, emotionless. "I said to him, 'Lieutenant, don't tell them anything. For Enterprise's sake"

Archer didn't respond to this revelation. Trip looked at him waiting for a reaction, and when he got none, the engineer shouted, "Don't ya get it, Captain? He thought that meant that I hadn't told them anything, so they went for him; he took it as an order. I knew he would. I made him try to do what I couldn't. That's how he wound up getting hurt so bad." Finally, Archer understood the depth of Trip's anguish and guilt. Trip's pride hadn't let him reveal that he had been broken, and he had taken it a step too far. He'd implied to Reed that any information he gave would endanger Enterprise.

"They left me lying there for a while. I had to lie there, and watch while they beat him...I can't stop remembering hearing his fingers break. Then I don't remember too much more. Everything sort of...I don't know, exactly. I woke up in a cell alone, and I couldn't remember what had happened, what I had done. But I could still hear.....they weren't done with him yet. I don't know what they did after that. And then I guess I sort of went into shock. I didn't fully remember what had happened until Hoshi and Travis came in. When they finally brought Malcolm back, I couldn't face him. I couldn't bear to see what I'd caused."

"So you haven't spoken with him? Back in the cell..."

"No. He doesn't want to talk to me. He hates me, for doing that to him."

Archer listened, feeling immense pity for his chief engineer. This was something Trip was going to have to live with for a long time. Every time he saw Reed it would be salt in a very deep wound. Archer wondered if it would ever heal completely. He didn't know if there was any chance to heal the rift betweent the two officers, but knew if there was any possibility that things could be remedied, he had to get the two officers speaking, immediately.

* * *

Malcolm couldn't sleep. He had been released from sickbay that morning, after two long days there, and had made his way slowly and carefully to his quarters, thinking he would rest there. He had been unable to. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dorlogian faces peering at him, asking him questions, insisting he tell them about the Enterprise, her weapons, and her defenses. So when the door chimed, he was awake. He sat up, reaching over with his good hand to hit the intercom. "Come in." The door slid open to reveal the Captain. Immediately Reed began to struggle to his feet.

"At ease, Malcolm. I don't want to disturb you. I just wanted to see how you're doing, and talk to you a bit. How are you feeling?"

Reed sat back down, moving somewhat gingerly. "I'm doing fine, Sir. The doctor has taken good care of my injuries."

Reed may have been feeling 'fine', but he didn't really look much better, Archer thought. He was still very pale, and his black eyes made him look distinctly racoonish. Archer could see that his eyes held a glaze that bespoke heavy pain medication.

"I'm sure he has. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about, though. I want to talk to you about what happened on Dorlog."

Reed paled even further. The armory officer stood back up, grimacing at the effort. "Yes, Sir. I've been expecting this. I've been working on my After Action Report." He held out a padd. "It's not quite finished yet, but most of it is here. I...I'm prepared for whatever penalty Starfleet deems appropriate."

Archer was flabbergasted. "You're...What?"

Reed swallowed hard. "I'll waive court-martial, Sir. I'm prepared to accept whatever judgment Starfleet offers."

"Malcolm, I'm not here to...what do you think I'm talking about?"

Reed slowly shook his head. "Captain, I know you're trying to be kind, but I'd rather not muck about. Is the charge...treason? Or is it merely disobeying a lawful order? I know either could be supported, but if you'll read my report, I think you'll see that I....I didn't deliberately aid and abet the Dorlogians, Sir. Perhaps the medical report will serve as enough mitigation that they'll be willing to only go with the lesser charge..."

"Malcolm!" Archer was practically shouting, trying to break his armory officer's monologue. "There are no charges being brought. Not any. Of any nature."

"Sir, perhaps you haven't spoken with Commander Tucker yet..."

"I have spoken with Commander Tucker. And he certainly isn't bringing any charges against you! Now, please tell me why you thought he was."

Reed stared at him. "Didn't Commander Tucker tell you anything about what happened? I...I gave the Dorlogians information. Classified information of a nature prejudicial to Starfleet security, and more importantly to Enterprise's safety. After being directly ordered not to."

Archer couldn't believe he was having this conversation. He was starting to feel as though he'd fallen through the rabbit hole. He had come here to see if he could ascertain how Reed felt about Tucker's actions, and had instead discovered his armory officer expecting to be court-martialed for treason. He shook his head in confusion. He knew Reed was a stickler for military regulations and laws, giving himself no room for error, ever. Perhaps he should have anticipated that Reed would be feeling guilty. Archer considered how to get through to Reed, and decided to try another tact.

"Oh, I didn't realize that. So you had tea with them, and discussed our tactical and defensive measures, did you?"

"No, Sir, of course not" Malcolm replied in a tone that indicated he knew Archer was being facetious.

"Oh. No tea. So you just answered their questions? Had a nice conversation?" Malcolm shook his head at this clearly ridiculous proposition.

"Then they threatened you, so you feared they might hurt you and told them whatever they wanted to know?"

Malcolm flushed. "No, Sir, of course not. And to shorten this conversation somewhat, let's just say that I answered their questions under significant duress. But still, Captain, that is no excuse. The code of conduct states..."

"The code of conduct states you are to resist giving information that could harm Starfleet, your vessel, or a fellow Starfleet member, to the best of your ability. You aren't required to give your life, or your sanity, or to be super-human. When did you answer their questions? After they broke your fingers, or after they cracked your ribs? Never mind, it isn't important. Malcolm, it's obvious to me you held out longer than any reasonable person could possibly have expected you to."

"But, Sir, you don't understand." Reed raised his eyes from the spot of carpet he had been intently studying. "Commander Tucker gave me a direct order. He knew what they were capable of. He resisted them. He didn't give them what they wanted. He explicitly stated that I was not to divulge any information."

"Commander Tucker gave you an order he shouldn't have given, and that you couldn't possibly have been expected to obey, and I'll deal with him about that. He put you in an impossible situation. Now I don't want to hear any more nonsense about charges." Archer softened his voice. "I would like to know what information you gave, to make sure we develop adequate counter measures, should anyone attempt to use that information."

Reed still looked pale. "Sir, I don't know exactly what I told them. It all...sort of blurred at some point." He still looked ashamed, and Archer knew that nothing he had said had reassured the armory officer. Reed believed he had disobeyed a senior officer, and had surrendered information to an adversary, while under the same circumstances Trip had not, and in doing so had endangered Enterprise. It would eat at him for the rest of his career, perhaps for the rest of his life. To let him live with that mistaken belief would have been a cruel act indeed. But to correct that wrong, Archer was going to have to inflict more pain. Studying the crushed armory officer, Jonathan Archer made one of the hardest decisions of his command to this point.

"Malcolm, please sit down. There are some things you need to know." Speaking as gently as he could, Archer repeated the story Trip had told him. He watched as realization dawned in Malcolm's eyes, followed quickly by pained confusion. Archer could practically see pieces of the puzzle falling into place in Reed's head. Things that hadn't made sense before were suddenly becoming clear. As the truth sank in, Archer saw Reed's expression change. He wore the devastated look of one who has suddenly learned that a friend has been the perpetrator of harm. Reed sat silently for several moments, absorbing this new information, trying to place it into his own understanding of the situation. It didn't fit.

"But...he told me...he knew I thought...why did he let me think that?"

"Malcolm, he is more sorry than you can imagine. This is tearing him apart."

"Pardon me, Sir, but if that is the case, then why isn't he here, telling me this himself? I can't believe he let me believe...." Reed stood and began to pace, limping heavily, and Archer remembered that Phlox had told him he'd discovered Reed has several smashed toes. Archer watched as Reed ignored the pain to continue pacing, trying to make sense of what he'd been told. Finally, he looked up and his eyes met Archer's. They were hard. Cold.

"Thank you for telling me this, Sir. It doesn't change what I did, but at least..." Reed's face was a plastic mask of professionalism, not withstanding the damage that still marred it.

"Malcolm..."

"Sir, I don't really think there is too much more to say, is there?"

Archer wanted to reach out, and put a hand on Malcolm shoulder. If it had been Trip, or Travis, or Hoshi, he would have. But it would just make Malcolm more uncomfortable. "Try to get some rest, Lieutenant. I'll stop by and talk to you tomorrow."

Reed nodded curtly, his face revealing nothing.

* * *

As soon as Archer was gone, Reed sat down heavily on his bunk, stunned. He tried to absorb what he'd just heard. He was overwhelmed with relief that his worst fear, that of being charged with having failed to do his duty, was not coming true. Slowly the other implications were sinking in. Commander Tucker had given them information too? When? Reed has seen him in the interrogation room, and had known instantly that the engineer had been mistreated. It was obvious in the lines of pain on Trip's face, in the bruises and burns. Besides, he had heard the screaming. He had hoped it wasn't Trip, but had suspected it was. He had assumed that the engineer had been forced to provide information—until Trip had ordered him not to say anything. That told Malcolm that they hadn't managed to break the engineer, and were hoping that Malcolm would provide them the information they wanted. Malcolm wouldn't have willingly given them information under any circumstances, but the direct order not to tell them anything indicated to Malcolm anything he said would be a serious breach of security. Trip had made him believe that Enterprise was in immediate danger and anything Reed said could have catastrophic results for the ship.

He remembered while they were 'questioning' him, they'd made a statement he'd found odd. He had been refusing to answer a question, insisting that he didn't know the answer. "Of course you know the answer. You're a weapons expert, and this is a very simple question," the guard had replied curtly, delivering a blow to Reed's already aching ribs. They had called him a weapon's expert. How could they have known that? At the time, he assumed they had gotten a copy of the ship's manifest. His position had been listed on the visitation permits they'd submitted. He had wondered why, if they had this information, they wouldn't accept him as a bona fide visitor, but he hadn't dwelt on that—other things had demanded his attention. Now the statement made sense. They had known that he was a weapon's expert because Trip had told them, and that was why he had been questioned.The memories crowded into his mind; he'd been trying to ignore them, but now found he couldn't.

Nearly as soon as he had entered the room they had started questioning him, each unanswered question punctuated with a blow. The questions and beating had escalated quickly. Trip had been there, observing it all, and seeming to warn Malcolm not to talk. The engineer had seemed to be floating in and out of consciousness. 'He must be terribly injured,' Malcolm had thought with concern, before an eye-closing blow had brought his attention back to his own dilemma. Very soon he hadn't really cared about Trip's condition. At some point, he noticed that the engineer was gone. He was glad. It was hard enough trying to maintain control, without feeling as though his performance was being judged.

Reed hadn't answered their question when they broke his fingers, nor when his ribs cracked. He thought he might have given them something when they smashed his toes, but he wasn't sure. But he couldn't hold out against the burns. He'd tried. He'd tried with everything he had, even as tears of pain streaked his cheeks, and he thought his throat would burst from screaming. But the hot metal against his skin was too much. He'd finally given in.

The injuries had hurt, but not as much as the realization that he'd failed, and the frantic worry about what might be happening to the Enterprise. When they had finally, after what seemed an eternity, returned him to the cell he'd been guilt-stricken and desperate to learn the fate of the Enterprise. He had hoped to explain to Trip, to let him know that he'd done his best, but the engineer had refused to speak to him. This had confirmed for him the egregious nature of his crime.

Now, suddenly, everything was different. He hadn't been all in the wrong. He had done as well as could be humanly expected. Here he was, sitting in his quarters, his ribs protesting with every breath, his right hand a tormenting reminder of the experience, unable to even walk without pain, while Commander Tucker could probably return to duty the next day. Reed had been harboring a simmering anger directed primarily at the head guard and the Director. Now it grew to include Trip. He wanted to confront the engineer immediately. To demand to know why his friend, his _friend_ , had treated him this way. But confrontation with senior officers was not Reed's style. Instead, he sat in his cabin and seethed, his rage at all those who had hurt him growing.


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan Archer looked around his bridge, and then nodded to himself. All was running smoothly, a situation that while not unique was not yet commonplace on this still-new mission. Hoshi Sato and Travis Mayweather were at their accustomed positions, quietly working. Ensign Baylo was substituting at the tactical station. T'Pol was in engineering conferring with Lt. Hess, trying to get some information or other about the latest evaluation of warp core efficiency. She would stop by the armory next, to check on operations there. Archer had given her the responsibility of keeping an eye on those major divisions while their chiefs were unavailable. All things considered, the ship was functioning well. There was nothing that demanded Archer's immediate attention, which gave him time to think and reflect upon the recent events.

Lieutenant Reed remained medically off-duty. Malcolm's injuries were healing well, but he was hindered by the inability to use his right hand, and he still moved with great gingerness and tired easily. Archer could see exhaustion in Reed's face and eyes every time he spoke with him. The captain suspected the tactical officer wasn't sleeping well, although whether that was the result of pain, or had another cause, Archer didn't know; Reed certainly wasn't telling. The captain had stopped by to visit every day of the two weeks Reed had been off duty, and while Malcolm was unfailingly polite and proper he was unwilling to have any conversation that moved beyond trivialities. A blank stare was the standard response to any question that bordered on personal; Archer had finally given up trying to get the taciturn officer to confide in him, but he continued to stop by Reed's quarters every evening. Reed was beginning to chafe at the forced inactivity. Archer knew he would have to let him do something useful soon, or risk having the armory officer go mad with boredom. Against the doctor's vigorous protests, the captain had agreed to allow Reed to do limited work from his quarters.

Commander Tucker was another matter entirely. Trip was devastated. Despite Archer's reassurances and attempts to point out that ultimately it was the Dorlogians who were responsible for the ordeal on the planet, not the engineer, he continued to blame himself. His guilt and regret made him unwilling to face the crew, or his friends; the engineer had virtually disappeared from the ship. Despite Archer urging him to talk to Reed, Trip remained unable to face his crewmate; in his attempt to avoid Malcolm, he stayed away from all the normal gathering places on the ship. Malcolm wasn't helping the situation. Unlike Trip, whose anger would have been explosive but short lived, Reed's anger was kept carefully confined—but it was a definable, palpable presence whenever Trip's name was mentioned. Trip couldn't have missed noticing it on the few occasions they had encountered each other.

Archer was at a loss as to how to help his officers, especially Trip. He had considered and rejected several options before finally deciding to keep the engineer off duty. He hadn't wanted to; he knew Trip needed to be doing something useful, needed the work and distractions to help put the events on Dorlog into the past. In good conscience, however, Archer couldn't allow the engineer on duty in his current state. If he was honest with himself, Archer had to admit his decision was partially influenced by a desire to not add to Malcolm's ire. Seeing Trip return to duty, while he was forced to remain inactive, might flame the armory officer's smoldering anger into a full-blown conflagration, dooming any attempt to salvage the friendship. The captain's decision was made easier by the doctor's insistence that Trip shouldn't be on full duty. So Archer kept the engineer off-duty, while continuing to check on his friend daily.

It was this state of affairs Archer was contemplating, deeply wishing he had a better solution, when Hoshi's quiet voice broke into his thoughts.

"Captain, we're receiving a transmission. It's directed to you." Hoshi's voice became tense. "Sir, it's from Dorlog."

Archer immediately stood. "Direct it to my quarters." Before Hoshi could acknowledge the command, the captain was in the lift.

* * *

"Commandant." Archer greeted the Dorlogian icily. He knew he should be polite, but he couldn't force false civility into his tone.

"Captain," the Commandant replied. His tone was apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you. I just thought—well, there have been some developments here on Dorlog, and I think we owe you an explanation. I'm glad we were able to contact you before you were out of communications range."

Archer nodded his acknowledgement. "What developments?"

The Commandant sighed, and Archer noticed that while the official seemed unhappy, the anxious nervousness that had characterized the alien in the past was less noticeable. "It's about the Director. I thought you might want to know that he has been arrested."

Archer was genuinely surprised. "Arrested? For what he did to my men?"

The Commandant shook his head, and Archer noted distractedly that the alien's ears had turned a lime-green. "No. Well, not directly. The incident with your men was contributory. Maybe I should start from the beginning. As you have already learned, we have a significant problem on Dorlog with smuggling and syndicated crime. We treat it harshly, but the fact remains that smuggling is lucrative. What you may not have realized was within the structure of our government, the Director and I are equals. My responsibility, as Police Commandant, is to maintain law and order among the citizens of Dorlog, and attend to civil matters. The Director, as head of Protective Forces Special Security Unit, had the responsibility of protecting Dorlog from outside influences: spies, smugglers and other off-world influences, and planetary security. As you might imagine, our jobs frequently overlap. Although it is my men that conduct the preventive sweeps, if they find anything that appears to fall under his purview, the Director is notified. That is how he became involved with your men. And...well, the Director was abusing his position. Or more acurately, he was using it. We had suspected for some time that he was unduly interested in smuggling activities, to the neglect of his other duties. It wasn't until very recently that I began to suspect he might be involved himself. We have discovered he was working with one of the more powerful syndicates, and using his position to extract information from 'competitors'. He believed your men were working with another syndicate. Or maybe he wanted to find a way to get the information on your weapons to sell—we're not entirely sure. He's not been very forthcoming. In any event, it was for his own personal reasons that he questioned your men. The guards, with the exception of one individual, were unaware of his private agenda. They believed they were following legal orders. Captain, I was unaware of the situation. I had no idea that your men were being treated so badly, until it was too late. When I realized what had happened, I began an investigation and his activities were revealed. I just want you to know how very sorry we are for this incident, and to offer an official apology on behalf of the Dorlogian government."

Archer was dumb struck. This was the last thing he had expected—he had believed the Commandant complicit in the way Reed and Tucker had been treated. He hadn't given the man enough credit.

"The merchants...the one that was killed, and the one that escaped...what about them?"

The Commandant shook his head in apparent frustration. "Corman has not been recaptured. Cooman—we still don't know precisely what his level of involvement was. We're suspicious that Corzac arranged events that day to gain access to your men. He was the one that scheduled the preventive sweeps, and he would have no difficulty getting the information on who was scheduled to visit the planet. We have no proof, or even strong evidence of this, merely a suspicion. It may have been simply a fortuitous coincidence for him. We just don't know. But he was a dangerous man, in a position that made him even more dangerous."

Archer, still feeling stunned, managed a response. "Thank you for this information, Commandant. I'm glad you were able to rid your government of him."

"There is one other thing, Captain. We were able to confiscate all his records, including the information he gathered from your men. I'll transmit that data to you. We don't know if he had the chance to distribute it. As soon as you receive the transmission, we will destroy our copies, in deference to your privacy and the security of your classified information. There will be no record on Dorlog of the information."

Archer was now truly amazed. He felt a little ashamed of the harsh thoughts he had directed toward the Dorlogians. The Commandant was clearly doing everything he could to right the wrongs that had been done, and that was all anyone could reasonably expect. "Commandant, I appreciate the measures you've taken. Word of the Director's arrest will be good news indeed to my crew. Knowing what information might possibly have made it into other hands will help us take defensive measures. Thank you."

The Commandant bowed his head once in brief acknowledgement. "I appreciate your understanding. I wish you safe travel. And please...extend my apologies to your officers." As Archer promised to do so, the connection was broken.

The captain stood in front of the terminal for some time, absorbing what he had just heard. It was a lot to take in at once. Almost hesitant, he accessed the information the Commandant had transmitted. It seemed like an invasion of his officers' privacy to read the file, to see the information they had been forced to divulge, but Archer needed to know. He leaned forward, peering at the screen.

* * *

When he finished reading the file, Archer leaned back in his chair, not seeing the screen, but instead the scenes his imagination had created from Corzac's harsh and scornful reports. The files were not simply a list of information, but a detailed report of how the information had been extracted. In his mind he could see the cold and dreary place his officers had been held, and what had transpired there. He shook his head, rousting himself. He mentally debated how to handle the excruciatingly sensitive information he had just read. He was conflicted, torn between two sets of responsibilities, two sets of loyalties. He had a duty to Starfleet; they were owed a full report. And yet to make public, even if only to a handful of top Starfleet officials, the intensely personal details of the interrogations would be a gross invasion of his officers' privacy, one more wound inflicted on his injured men. He found himself wishing the Commandant hadn't provided the information. But that was a futile wish. The Commandant had provided the information, and he had to deal with the situation as it existed. Archer turned weary eyes back to the screen, and as repulsive as he found it, began reading the file again.

An agonized hour later, still unsure if it was the right thing to do, Archer entered a series of commands in the computer, and deleted the recently transmitted file from the Starfleet database.

* * *

Hoshi stabbed a piece of broccoli with her fork. Travis looked up from his own meal.

"What did the broccoli do?"

"What?" Hoshi asked, her reverie broken. "Oh. Oh, nothing. The broccoli is an innocent bystander. I was just thinking about something else."

"Doesn't seem like it was very pleasant. You okay, Hoshi?" There was concern in Travis' voice.

"Yes. No. I don't know. It just seems that everything has changed. All the tension, you know?"

"You mean on the bridge?"

"On the bridge, here, everywhere." She hesitated, undecided whether to say more. The last two weeks had been hard ones for the junior officers. After returning to Enterprise, Hoshi had thought things would return to normal. Certainly Commander Tucker and Lieutenant Reed would need time to heal, and Hoshi had harbored a fear that whatever was wrong with Trip wouldn't be easy to fix, but she had confidence that Phlox and Archer could handle the situation. Things hadn't worked out that way. First, she hadn't been allowed to visit Reed in sickbay. All Archer or Phlox would tell her was that his life wasn't in danger, but he had requested no visitors be allowed. Since his release from sickbay he, like Trip, seemed to have performed a disappearing act, being seen in public only on rare occasion.

When Hoshi looked up, Travis' brown eyes were filled with concern and warmth, encouraging her to continue. She paused for a moment, trying to organize her thoughts.

"Travis, when I came on board, I was so nervous. I was afraid of everything. Remember?" Travis smiled, "Yeah."

"I started to worry about what everyone else thought about me. I didn't want to show any fear, but I couldn't relax. I thought everyone would be judging me. But everyone was so supportive, and did everything they could to help me. I've become so comfortable on Enterprise. I feel so safe. I mean, I know space is dangerous, but I had begun to feel so personally safe. Not so afraid to just try things, you know? But now...everyone seems so tense. I just wish Malcolm and Trip were back on duty, so things would go back to normal."

"Do you think that will happen?" Travis asked.

"What do you mean? Of course they'll return to duty."

"I know they'll return to duty. What I mean is, do you think things will go back to normal? I don't know what went on, but Hoshi have you seen them? If they accidentally run into each other, the temperature on the ship drops ten degrees. I don't know what's going on, but I don't think their going back on duty is going to fix it."

Hoshi looked stricken, and Travis immediately regretted his words. "But I don't know, Hosh. It might be okay. I just wish I knew what had happened." Travis returned to his meal, wishing he had kept silent. They continued eating in silence for several minutes before Hoshi broke the silence.

"Look."

Travis glanced up to see what Hoshi was referring to. She nodded toward the messhall door, through which Reed had just entered. The armory officer didn't so much as look around, but went straight to the food line. The two ensigns watched as he selected a meal, carefully placing the food on his tray, balancing it precariously with his left hand. Only when he had the tray under control did he look up. He noticed the junior officers and gave them a small, tense smile, but that was all. Impulsively, wanting to make things normal, Hoshi called out to him. "Lieutenant, will you join us?"

Reed looked as though he would rather not, but he didn't decline, and worked his way through the crowded messhall to their table. Travis pushed a chair out for him and Reed sat stiffly, looking distinctly uncomfortable. It reminded Hoshi of how Malcolm had behaved when he'd first come aboard Enterprise, before he had come to think of his crewmates as friends.

"How are you, Lieutenant?" Travis began, unable to think of anything else to say.

"I'm fine, thank you, Ensign," Reed replied. For several seconds no one spoke.

"I understand you're working on some security upgrades," Hoshi finally tried. This at least got a response.

"Yes. I think I've found a way to rework the circuitry to the hull plating. If it works, it could increase the effectiveness of the hull polarization by quite a little bit." Reed warmed to the topic. "It might even increase the speed at which the hull polarizes, if I can tie it to the tactical alert..." His voice trailed off, as his eyes took on a distant look, and Hoshi knew he was seeing new possibilities. It was the first sign of interest they'd seen from him in some time and Hoshi and Travis exchanged pleased looks that Reed was oblivious to.

* * *

Trip was alone in his misery. For the engineer the last two weeks had been sheer hell. Under normal circumstances, Trip was a very social creature, even in difficult situations taking comfort in being surrounded by people. Not this time. The prospect of being with people was intimidating, in a way he couldn't explain even to himself. Questions about his welfare, about how he was doing, and when he would return to duty, were more than he could face; even the thought made him queasy. He hadn't attended movie night, or Liz Cutler's birthday party, or any of the other myriad social gatherings held on the ship, and his absence was started to be commented on. He had been able to hide behind a medical excuse at first, using the need for sleep and healing, but that excuse was wearing thin. Yet he remained sequestered, his loneliness intensifying his unhappiness.

He knew it wasn't healthy to spend all his time in his quarters, but he didn't know what else to do. He wasn't eating. The thought of a meal eaten in isolation was unappealing, but the challenge of facing a full mess hall was too great. He'd lost weight. He had made his way to the ship's gym, at late and odd hours when the chances of encountering others was low. Exhausting himself by running and biking would let him finally sleep. It was the only way he could sleep, without being haunted by the dreams.

Trip didn't know how to purge his mind of the ugly thoughts and images so he could sleep, or how to rid himself of the tormenting guilt that seemed to have become a part of every waking moment. He needed a distraction, to apply his mind to a specific problem with a real solution, in order to gain a respite from the mental prison he had created for himself. But the captain wouldn't let him return to duty, and wouldn't tell him when he would be allowed back to work. Trip knew what the captain wanted: resolution. But it wasn't going to be that simple. The captain couldn't keep him off duty indefinately, could he?

Archer visited every day. It was hard to fact the captain after his emotional confession and while he appreciated his friend's visits, he dreaded them as well. He dreaded the look of pained concern on Archer's face, but more than that he dreaded the question that came up every evening without fail. Every time he would answer the question with a short shake of his head. No, he hadn't been able to speak with Malcolm.

He couldn't. How the captain could fail to understand that, Trip did not know. He had occasionally encountered Malcolm on the rare occasions when he had ventured out of his quarters. Each time he had thought to say something, wanted to at least greet the lieutenant, but Reed was too quick—he had given a polite nod, without meeting Trip's eyes, and then he had been past, gone before the engineer could summon the will to speak. While Reed was perfectly proper each time, Trip had the sensation that he had been burned, scorched by the heat of the armory officer's anger, laying just below the surface, threatening to break free of the fragile bonds keeping it in check.

It occurred to Trip that if the captain saw him behaving normally, if he could show that he was ready for duty, the captain would have no choice but to allow him to return to work. For that hoped for opportunity he could force himself to face the crew. He needed to eat. The captain wouldn't let him return to duty if he thought that Trip wasn't healthy, so he knew he would have to find a way to eat, find a way to sleep. The last time he'd been in sickbay, a visit ordered by the doctor as a routine follow-up for his injuries, Phlox had offered him an anti-depressant. He had refused. Now, he considered that he might allow the doctor to give him a sleep aide, if he was unable to get rest on his own. He wanted to return to work, to perform his duties, to begin to attempt, somehow, to make recompense for his actions on Dorlog. To do that he needed to take action. With more determination and focus than he had managed to muster in the previous two weeks, he left his quarters.

* * *

Travis happened to glance up just as Trip entered the messhall and began to make his way to the food line. His back to the door, Malcolm didn't notice the engineer's entrance. Travis was pleased that they had managed to draw the armory officer out of his shell a little bit. Warmed by the success, and the small step toward normality, he made a rash decision.

"Commander, would you join us?" he called across the messhall.

The reaction was immediate. Reed's head snapped up violently, his entire body stiffening. He turned quickly in his chair to face Trip and their eyes locked. For an instant, Hoshi saw the undisguised rage in Malcolm's eyes-and then he lowered his head, regaining control. When he looked up again, his eyes were hard stones, but the frightening fury was gone.

* * *

Trip hadn't really wanted to be noticed. As he'd made his way through the corridors, managing to smile and nod at the crewman that greeted him, he'd felt his resolution slipping. 'Just grab a sandwich, smile at the crew, and discreetly leave. Just be seen behaving normally,' he told himself. 'This is not a big deal'. And he'd managed to convince himself that it was true, until Travis ill-timed invitation.

If he'd imagined he felt burned by Reed's anger when they had crossed paths before, he knew he'd been scorched this time. When he locked eyes with Malcolm, for an instant, just the barest instant, he had thought they might communicate, that Reed might see the apology in his eyes, might understand. That fleeting hope was crushed almost immediately as he'd been seared by the look in Reed's eyes, the armory officer's emotions all too clear. And then Malcolm had looked down, breaking the connection. "I think...I think I'll just grab a bite and take it with me," Trip stammered. He snatched a sandwich off the food line and fled the messhall.

* * *

For a moment, no one at the table spoke. Reed broke the silence as he abruptly stood. "I think I'll be leaving as well. Thank you for the invitation." He, too, left with amazing speed, never having touched his meal.

Travis sat silent, overwhelmed by the rapidity with which things had gone wrong. Finally he turned to Hoshi. "I don't think things will be returning to normal very soon," he said sadly.

  * Reed paced the short length of his quarters, his mind racing, undeterred by having to turn every few steps, or by the discomfort he was causing himself. 'I can't believe I behaved that way,' he berated himself. 'Made a fool of myself, I did. Couldn't just eat my supper and ignore him. Hoshi and Travis didn't deserve to have their meal time ruined.' He didn't understand the fury that had swept over him. He had never experienced this before, had never felt as though his emotions were not under his own control. He was finding that he frequently felt that way now, and it frightened him. He knew the anger he had felt upon seeing the engineer in the mess hall was irrational, but it had flared so quickly he hadn't been able to control his reaction until it was too late—Hoshi, Travis, and Trip had all seen it. He just hoped none of the rest of the crew had been close enough to realize how near he had been to losing control. He didn't know what to do, how to cope with emotion this strong. Archer wanted him to talk to him, and Phlox had suggested the same thing, but that wasn't Reed's style. His preferred method of dealing with such unpleasantness was to bury the emotion, ignoring it; it was the method he had used all his life. Unsure of how else to cope with his agitation, he turned to the one outlet available to him. 



* * *

An annoying screech pierced the quiet on the bridge. Both Hoshi, and Ensign Baylo at the tactical station, jumped. The two young officers looked beseechingly at their captain. At the helm, Mayweather shook his head with annoyance, while T'Pol simply looked up from her station. Archer could imagine similar reactions throughout the ship.

"Captain, the hull plating is polarized. Again." Ensign Baylo announced wearily. The grating sound abruptly stopped. Archer waited for what he knew would come next.

"Sir, the hull plating is no longer polarized."

Archer exchanged a glance with his science officer. "T'Pol..."

"I'll take care of it, Captain".

* * *

T'Pol moved briskly down the corridor, finally stopping in front of the appropriate door. She rang the chime.

"Come in," a distracted voice called from behind the door.

T'Pol responded to the summons and entered the quarters; she stood silently until Reed finally looked up from his workstation.

"Mr. Reed, the Captain has asked me..."

"Sub-Commander. I'm glad you're here. I would like you to take a look at this data. I think with this configuration we can increase the strength of the hull polarity by fifteen percent." Reed spoke as though he hadn't heard her.

T'Pol moved to look over his shoulder. "Interesting. It will need additional work, but it looks quite promising, Lieutenant. However, the Captain would prefer that the hull remain unpolarized for the time being."

Reed looked at her, surprised. "The Captain gave me permission to run simulations."

"The Captain gave you permission to run _a_ simulation," T'Pol corrected him. "By my count, that is the third time you have polarized the hull plating during this shift."

Reed shot her an irritated look. "Yes, but one simulation wasn't adequate. I need more data before I can continue."

"Nevertheless, the Captain has asked that you desist from activating the tactical alert. The bridge crew is becoming tense, and it isn't helping Ensign Baylo's confidence to have the alert signal continually activating. He already appears anxious to be serving as your substitute. Additionally, I believe you are supposed to be limiting your activities. Perhaps you should wait until you return to duty to conduct further simulations."

"When I return to duty I'll have other things demanding my attention, whereas right now I don't have a bloody thing to do." Reed's voice was tight, and his words even more clipped than usual.

T'Pol recognized the emotion in the armory officer's voice. She knew impatience was a human trait, but she had to admit that she, too, would have been displeased if she had been forced to remain off-duty for an extended period. "Perhaps I can speak with the Captain and determine set times when it would be acceptable to collect the data you need."

"I would appreciate it," Reed said. His voice softened. "Tell the captain there will be no more alerts until he approves."

T'Pol nodded calmly. She turned to leave, stopped, and turned back to the armory officer. He hadn't expected her to turn, and she caught him in an unguarded moment. He was staring with near desperation at the screen in front of him; it was obvious the project was critically important to him.

"Lieutenant, is there anything else I can assist you with?"

He looked up and flushed at having been caught off-guard. "No. Thank you Sub-Commander, but I can't think of anything I need."

"Lieutenant, you seem very anxious to complete this project. Why is it so urgent?"

Reed simply stared back at her, not answering, and she saw his face momentarily harden. "I want to make certain Enterprise is prepared for any eventuality," he said curtly. "Is there anything else, Sub-Commander?"

T'Pol didn't respond directly, bit simply stated, "I'll let the Captain know that you won't be running any more simulations during this shift."

* * *

Archer stood up from his captain's chair abruptly. All was peaceful, now that the incessant tactical alerts had stopped, and there was nothing particularly interesting within sensor range. Hoshi had returned from lunch visibly upset, and after some coaxing, she had told him about the incident in the messhall. It was the final straw. It was time to take action. He couldn't allow the conflict to become feed for the ship's rumor mill; already he had overheard junior crewman whispering about the notable absence of the senior officers at ship functions.

An idea had been forming in the back of his mind, but he'd been loath to implement it. It wasn't a plan he liked, or was even comfortable with. He had remained naively hopeful that the two men would resolve their conflict themselves. It had become painfully obvious that this was not likely to happen. He would have to intervene.


	7. Chapter 7

"Archer to Reed."

"Reed here, Sir." The voice on the other end of the intercom was vaguely surprised. Clearly Reed hadn't expected Archer to be contacting him while he was off duty.

"Malcolm, are you busy?"

"No, Sir." Now the voice was decidedly puzzled. The captain knew he was off duty, and had no pressing business.

"Then I'd like you to join me for lunch tomorrow at 1400."

"Aye, Sir," Reed replied, still sounding unsure, but agreeing.

'One down,' Archer thought, well aware that he had just thoroughly confused his armory officer. Well, that wasn't important.

"Archer to Tucker."

"Here, Captain."

"Trip, could you join me for lunch tomorrow? 1420?"

"Sure, Captain, but isn't that a bit late for lunch?" Archer suppressed a chuckle at the difference in responses from the two officers. Whereas Malcolm, while clearly wondering about the late hour, had simply agreed, unwilling to question his captain, Trip has immediately pointed out the oddity.

"Captain's prerogative," Archer replied, grinning. Then his smile faded. Lunch was not likely to be much fun. Perhaps he should make sure he got a snack earlier, just in case no one actually ate.

* * *

Malcolm double-checked his uniform in the mirror, trying to make himself presentable, ever the professional officer. He looked as well as could be expected under the circumstances, he thought. The swelling around his eyes was mostly gone, leaving just a little puffiness and the fading bruises. His jaw still ached some, but that bruise was disappearing, too. Most of the other marks on his face were gone or healing, thanks to some of Phlox's unusual creatures. The burns, hidden under the uniform, were also nearly healed, helped by the doctor's balms. His ribs still hurt a lot, his toes were taped tightly up, and his right hand was held rigid in an air splint. He sighed. In all honest truth, he looked a mess. 'Never mind,' he told himself. The captain was fully aware how he looked. With one last tug at his collar and a glance at the chronometer, he gave up. He snatched up the padd containing his hull plating modifications, and hurried out.

* * *

"Malcolm, it's good to see you. How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing well, Sir. I'm healing nicely."

"That's great. Have a seat. Chef will be in shortly. I asked him to make a nice variety of items."

"Thank you, Sir. You shouldn't have gone to the trouble," Malcolm said. He was uncomfortable to be here in the captain's dining room, and couldn't help but remember that the last time he had been in here it had been the start of a very bad day.

"Nonsense." Archer either didn't notice or ignored his officer's discomfort. "I'll be having the same thing." Archer gestured Reed to a seat, and took one himself. When the armory officer was settled Archer continued. "So...I imagine you're starting to find it pretty boring to be off duty?" Archer deliberately avoided mentioning the oft-repeated request for more simulations of the new upgrades. He had seen the padd Reed had brought with him, and had been quite deliberately ignoring it. He didn't want to get pulled into a discussion about the ship's security right now.

"Yes, Sir." Reed's reply was heartfelt.

"Ready to get back to work?"

"Absolutely, Sir!"

"That's great, because I spoke to the doctor. He doesn't see any reason you couldn't return part-time to duty—"

"That would be wonderful, Sir!" Reed began enthusiastically, but Archer cut him off by lifting a hand.

"Part-time, and only if you agree to very strict limits. No more than three hours a day for now, and obviously nothing strenuous. He also said to tell you to eat your vegetables," Archer grinned at the last. "I think that was just general advice". The captain didn't tell Malcolm that he had gone to the doctor, and after some cajoling, the doctor had reluctantly agreed to approve a limited return-to-duty for the lieutenant. Archer normally would not have pressured the doctor, leaving medical decisions in the hands of someone much better qualified to make them, but he needed a 'carrot'. He was about to try to convince Malcolm to do something he knew the armory officer didn't want to do, and he needed an enticement.

"Excellent, Sir."

"You promise no more than three hours? No sneaking in extra hours during off shifts, or trying to find ways to work from your quarters?"

Malcolm flushed, and Archer knew he had been planning exactly those sorts of manipulations. "I'll behave, Captain. Scout's honor." They both grinned at the inside joke.

"Good then. Oh, our meals here." Archer reached up and took the bowls of soup from the tray, handing one to Malcolm, and taking one for himself. He was happy to see that Reed began to eat immediately. He had suspected Malcolm wasn't eating well. The promise of returning to work was having a positive effect already. Archer let him eat in silence for a few minutes, watching from the corner of his eye.

Archer considered what he was about to do one more time, wondering if it was the right thing. He was no psychologist, and wasn't certain if what he was about to cause more harm or do good. It didn't seem sporting to spring this on Reed. He hadn't had adequate time to recover, physically or psychologically, from the trauma he'd suffered on Dorlog. Perhaps if given more time he would recover from his anger on his own...Archer mentally shook himself and strengthened his resolve; there was no indication the situation was improving. Archer hoped that having this conversation now, while Reed still clearly remembered the experience, might make Malcolm more liable to appreciate the state of mind Trip had been in. Then again, it might just infuriate the armory officer more. That was the crux of the problem; there was no way to know for certain. If he was honest with himself, Archer had to admit that he really didn't know what he was doing. He had no training for this kind of situation; he was going to have to improvise.

"Malcolm, we just have one more thing to discuss before you can return to duty." Archer tried to keep his tone light, normal. Reed glanced up from his soup. Seeing the serious look on Archer's face, he put his spoon down and faced him straight on.

"What issue?" he asked, suddenly wary.

"Have you spoken with Commander Tucker?"

Reed's posture became rigid, and the muscles in his jaw tightened. "No," he replied. He offered neither explanation nor excuse.

"I didn't think so. Malcolm, I can't have my senior officers not speaking to each other."

Reed drew in a deep breath, seemingly in an attempt to maintain his calm. "Sir. I can work with Commander Tucker. I haven't had the need to speak with him while in sickbay or my quarters. I assure you, however, that I can and will deal with Mr. Tucker in a professional matter."

"I'm sure you can, Lieutenant. But I'm afraid that won't cut it. And I'm not concerned only about your ability to deal with this situation, but with Commander Tucker's. This situation needs to be resolved to my satisfaction before either of you can return to duty, so I've asked Mr. Tucker to come by at 1420. It's almost that time now. I want to get the air cleared. I'm not saying you have to resolve everything, but this issue isn't going to go away, and frankly I'm not willing to let it fester any longer."

"Sir!" Malcolm had risen to his feet, seemingly unaware he had done so. "I really must protest. This isn't necessary..."

"It's not open for discussion, Malcolm." Archer maintained an even tone, meeting Reed's heated gaze calmly. "You don't have to stay here. I'm not ordering you to. I'm just telling you that a condition of returning to duty is having this conversation. If you want to wait until later, fine. It's your decision to make."

Malcolm continued to lock gazes with the Captain, and Archer could see the contained fury, but Reed's discipline held. "Aye, Sir," he replied in a tone so cold Archer shuddered.

"So what do you want to do, Malcolm? Talk now or later?"

Reed had crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive posture, still managing to smother his anger. He turned slowly to look out the viewing windows, without answering the captain. Archer waited. Finally, without turning, Malcolm replied shortly, "Now."

"Fine."

There was no time to say anything more. The door to the mess chimed. Malcolm's entire body stiffened even further, although how that was possible, Archer didn't know.

"That's probably Commander Tucker. He doesn't know you're here. I'm going to go get him. We'll be back in just a minute," Archer told Reed's back. The captain went quickly to the door, opened it, and stepped through so quickly Trip didn't notice Reed inside. The engineer looked vaguely surprised that Archer came out rather than inviting him in to the dining room.

"Good afternoon, Trip. How are you feeling?" Archer greeted his engineer cheerfully. Privately he was dismayed. Trip did not look well. There were huge circles under his eyes, he looked as though he had lost weight, and his hair was disheveled. More than that, though, was the lost look he wore.

"I'm doing okay, Captain. I really would like to get back to duty. Need something to distract me...."

"I understand Trip. And I want to put you back on duty. But buddy, you don't look real good."

Trip deflated even further. "Captain..."

"Don't misunderstand me, Trip. I want to get you back on duty as soon as we can." Archer paused, wondering if Trip were any more ready than Malcolm for this, and then continued. "There isn't any easy way to do this, Trip. I think you and Malcolm need to talk. He's in my dining room. He doesn't want to talk, but frankly, I'm not giving either of you a choice anymore. I'm not going to return you to duty until we get everything aired out. So, I want you to come in here with me now." Archer tried to ignore the panic that was dawning in Trip's eyes. The engineer was shaking his head in negation.

"No, Captain, I can't do that. I can't face him. I just can't..."

"Trip, I know you don't want to do this. But if you can't do it for yourself, think of Malcolm. I won't let him return to duty until you two talk. He wants to get back to work as badly as you do. This is something you can do to help him out."

Trip still looked horrified at the idea, but he was walking toward the captain. He squared his shoulders as though preparing to face a firing squad.

"All right, Captain. I'll do it. I don't want to give him one more reason to hate me."

Archer wanted to say something about how Malcolm didn't hate Trip—but he couldn't make that reassurance. He put a comforting hand on Trip's shoulder. "Come on, Commander." He activated the door, and together they walked through it.

* * *

Malcolm heard the door open behind him, but he didn't turn. He continued to stare at the stars speeding by. It was a peaceful, somehow soothing, view. Outwardly he was calm, collected. Inwardly, his thoughts were agitated, churning. 'I can't believe the captain is doing this to me,' he mentally ranted. 'Forcing me to talk to him....after what he did. What the hell does he expect me to say? I actually considered him a friend. Friend. Right. What a fool I was. And Archer....Won't leave well enough alone. I told him I would work with Tucker, but no, that's not good enough for him...'

"Malcolm, would you join us at the table?" Archer broke into Reed's thoughts. The captain knew this was going to be difficult for both men, and he had no intention of rushing them. If it took all afternoon, then so be it.

Trip glanced at the captain anxiously, and then at Reed's unmoving back. Archer shook his head at Trip, indicating he shouldn't say anything. He waved the engineer to a seat at the now cleared table. Reed still hadn't moved, and Archer wondered how hard the armory officer was working to maintain control. Archer decided not to push him.

"I'm going to have some more food brought in." Archer went to the wall console and called the crewman on mess duty. Speaking through the intercom while still watching his officers he requested that tea, coffee, water, and some snacks be sent in. He felt like he was making arrangements for a long negotiating session—and then realized that, in essence, it was exactly what he was doing.

Malcolm still hadn't joined them at the table, but he had finally moved. He had walked to the far end of the dining room, and turned walking back again, seemingly unaware that he was pacing. Archer could now at least see Malcolm's face in profile. Good enough for now. The captain took his own seat, and let the lieutenant pace. A few long, silent moments elapsed before the door chimed, breaking the silence. The crewman brought in a tray of sandwiches and cookies and the beverages. He looked curiously at the three silent men, but knew better than to say anything. He hastily finished setting up the refreshments.

"Will that be all, Sir?"

"Yes, thanks, Sam. We won't be needing you to check on us. I'll call if we need anything more. I'll let you know when you can clear the area."

"Aye, Sir." The crewman acknowledged the orders and then quickly retreated. The tension was so thick in the room that he was privately grateful he didn't have to stay. Archer grabbed a mug and poured himself some coffee, eschewing tea for the stronger beverage, and grabbed a sandwich. He hadn't finished his soup earlier, and he was still hungry.

"Help yourselves," he told them. "Trip, you haven't eaten lunch yet. Dig in. Malcolm, you didn't have time to finish your lunch. You must still be hungry."

Trip took a plate and loaded it with food, and with trembling hands poured a glass of water. He shot several nervous glances at the pacing armory officer before giving Archer a pleading look, his eyes begging for help. Archer just shook his head and waited until finally Malcolm deserted his pacing and came to the table. Wordlessly, Reed picked up a plate and put some of the softer items on it. After he poured a cup of tea, he finally sat, making it a point to position himself where he was simultaneously as far from Trip as he could be, and yet was still able to keep his gaze on the stars outside the ship.

Archer looked at the two younger men, took a deep breath, and dove in. "All right, here is the situation. You both want to return to duty, and I want you on duty. But I can't tolerate a situation where my senior officers don't speak to each other, or..." here he lifted a hand to stop Reed's protest, "who are clearly uncomfortable working with each other. I can't have you avoiding each other. The armory and engineering departments work too closely together. But beyond a mere ability to work together, my senior officers need to be able to make up a seamless team, to trust and rely on each other..." Archer was interrupted by a small snort from Malcolm. He followed Reed's lead.

"Malcolm?"

"Sorry, Sir. That just struck me as...funny."

"How so?"

"Trust? Trust is something that is earned, Captain. Not blindly given. It can be lost. People can't expect to be trusted just because they wish to be—especially if they've proven themselves untrustworthy." He continued to stare at the racing stars while he spoke, not acknowledging Tucker's presence.

Archer nodded slowly. "That's true. You have a good point. Let's get to the heart of the matter. What, exactly, are you saying Malcolm?"

"Sir, I can work with Commander Tucker. I can even take orders from him. But don't ask me to trust him."

Pain flashed across Trip's face. He dropped his head into his hands, making no attempt to defend himself. Archer looked at his friend with understanding and concern. He knew it was hard for Trip to hear this, but Malcolm needed to say it, and Trip needed to know how Reed felt. Trip's defense could come later.

"You don't think you can trust Commander Tucker. Why not?"

"Why not? Why the bloody hell not?!" Reed exploded. "I think this is sufficient reason," he said, waving his broken hand and pointing vaguely toward his injured ribs.

"You hold Commander Tucker responsible for the injuries the Dorlogians inflicted on you."

Reed nodded a curt affirmative.

"Why? You didn't when you first got back to Enterprise." Archer knew why, of course, but he challenged Reed to express precisely what was bothering him.

Malcolm replied with more vitriol than Archer had ever heard in his armory officer's voice. "Why? _Why?_ Because he knew what was going to happen, _he knew_ , but he told me not to give them any information, ordered me not to talk, even though he had. He made me made me think it was possible to hold out against them when he knew it wasn't. And...and...I don't know for sure, but _somehow_ they knew I was a weapons expert, which made the questioning even more fun." He tossed Trip a venomous glance, for the first time acknowledging that the engineer was in the room.

Trip's head had dropped even lower, now nearly resting on the table.

"So...let me see if I understand. You agree it wasn't possible to hold out forever against the Dorlogians, so you don't hold it against Commander Tucker that he provided information to them, right?" Archer spoke slowly, carefully.

Reed looked a little confused at this method of looking at the issue. "No...I don't blame him for that."

"And, I think you'll agree that they most likely would have questioned you regardless of anything Commander Tucker may or may not have told them. Right?"

"Right." Malcolm replied, looking as though he expected a trap. "But..."

"Just a minute," Archer interrupted. "So, let's get to the core issue then. What do you blame Commander Tucker for? Exactly."

"I blame him..." Reed finally turned to face Trip. "I blame you for ordering me not to tell them anything. You knew I'd obey to the best of my ability. You knew it was a standard _you_ couldn't achieve, but you...how could..." He broke off, too incensed to continue.

Archer just nodded, silently waiting for Reed to find the words he needed. He did. They spilled out in a torrent as the armory officer again rose to his feet, unable to remain seated.

"I blame you for telling them that I was a weapons expert. For all those things, but most of all for not telling me this right away, yourself. When we were in that cell, you wouldn't even speak to me. What did you think I'd be thinking? What the hell did you think you were doing?" Reed's voice had gone soft and dangerous.

Archer was taken off guard. He had long suspected that Reed was a man of deep emotions, hiding them under a disciplined, taciturn exterior. The captain had occasionally even idly wondered what would happen if all those emotions were unleashed. This display, though, was more than he had anticipated, and while he thought he had considered all the possible outcomes of this confrontation, Malcolm's rage was more than he had anticipated. He wasn't sure he was competent to deal with it, but it was too late for such considerations now. The fury was a presence in the room with them.

"I see," Archer replied, trying to keep his voice quiet and steady, hoping to calm the situation. "Trip, do you—" but he was interrupted. Apparently Malcolm was not yet ready to relinquish the floor.

"How can you sit there and not know why? Do you know what it's like to hurt so much that you scream until you lose your voice, and then keep screaming? Do you know what it's like to long for unconsciousness? To wonder if pain can actually kill you? Do you know—"

"Yes." Trip spoke for the first time, and his quiet voice broke through Malcolm's tirade. Malcolm stopped suddenly and stared at the engineer, surprised.

"What?"

"I said yes. Yes, I do know what it's like Malcolm."

Reed seemed at a loss about how to respond to that.

"I was there too, okay? You know, you're not the only victim here. No, they didn't injure me as badly as they did you. I didn't hold out as long as you. I'm sorry about that. I'm really, really sorry about that. But I know what it's like to hurt, too. I held out as long as I could." There was anger in Trip's voice too, and Archer was glad to hear it. It was the first sign of any emotion other than despair that Archer had seen in the engineer.

"Why Commander? If you knew what they would do, why would you tell them I was a weapons expert? And why, later, didn't you..." The question, while not quite verbalized, was genuine and Malcolm's voice cracked with anguish, for the first time betraying the emotions lying beneath his wrath.

Archer was hit with sudden realization, a lightning bolt of understanding that jarred him with its impact. He'd badly misread the situation, had done so right from the start. All of Reed's ferocious anger, the seeming fury, was a disguise for terrible pain and grief. Certainly there was anger too, but Archer had been fooled by the rage; he simply hadn't realized how badly Malcolm was hurting, and that it was this pain that was the source of the anger. Archer was willing to bet Trip hadn't seen it either.

"I don't know, Malcolm," Trip sighed. He dropped his head again, and then lifted it with resolve, facing his crewmate straight on. "I wasn't exactly thinking clearly, ya know? I just wanted to make the pain stop. They'd just burned me..." he shuddered and his voice choked at the remembered pain. Malcolm shuddered too, with his own memories. Trip found his voice and continued.

"I had told them things. Things I shouldn't have. But I hadn't told them everything. Not the most important stuff. But I was going to. I knew I was going to tell them information that would really be bad to tell, if they didn't stop. And...I just..." he broke off and tears came to his eyes. He blinked them back. His voice roughened, but he managed to continue. "And I thought...I can't stand this any more. Maybe Malcolm can. I thought you might be able to hold out longer. I knew I couldn't for one more minute. To convince them to stop, I told them you were the weapons expert. I didn't plan it. I was hurtin' so bad, and just trying to not say anything really classified, and that was all I could think of that might convince them to stop—it just popped out. I didn't think it through. I didn't plan it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Malcolm sat heavily in a chair, suddenly exhausted. He tried to absorb Trip's words. He could understand how that could happen. He had been at that point himself. If he was truthful, he couldn't say for sure that, given the opportunity, he might not have done the same thing. But it didn't explain everything. It didn't explain the most important things.

"Why," he whispered, not trusting his voice, "did you tell me not to talk? You practically threatened me not to..."

Trip raised his head again and met the armory officer's eyes squarely. "Because I knew you would take that seriously. And I knew you would hold out for a long time, and that was best for Enterprise. I'd messed up, Malcolm, and I knew it. I was scared. I thought...if you didn't tell them anything, then my mistake wouldn't matter. And...I didn't want you to know that I'd given in. At least, I think that's what I thought. It wasn't like I was very clear-headed right then."

Reed and Archer, stunned by Trip's admission, remained quiet. Several moments of silence passed. Then Trip broke it once again.

"I really didn't know it would get so bad for you. By the time I...I knew what they were doing, it was too late. And then I thought they might kill you, and it would be my fault. They killed that merchant you know. My mind went...sort of numb. Fuzzy. I don't know. When I was back in the cell by my self, I could hear them hurting you, but I really didn't remember what was happening. I can't explain it. Hoshi and Travis came in, and I didn't care. When you were brought to the cell, I was so ashamed that I couldn't face you. I couldn't bear to see what they had done, knowing it was my fault, my weakness that caused most of it. I didn't think about what that might seem like to you. Then, I thought you knew what I did, and you were blaming me." Trip paused, looking over at Reed, trying to gauge the armory officer's reaction.

Reed was sitting very, very still. Archer studied his pale face, a little worried, wondering if he should say something. Abruptly Malcolm rose. He moved to the window and stared out, his back to them again. After several minutes he spoke in a voice so quiet that Trip, who had lowered his head to the table, could barely hear him and had to lift his head to catch the soft words.

"I thought you considered me a failure, because I told them things. Later, after the captain told me what happened, I thought you'd betrayed me. To help yourself."

"I did," Trip replied, his voice desolate.

"No." Malcolm still hadn't turned away from the window, and Archer knew Reed didn't want them to see his face. Clearly he was struggling with his emotions, and didn't want to let them view the battle. His voice was utterly weary. "You kept faith, with Enterprise. You were trying to protect her. It might not have worked out how you planned, but..." his voice trailed off, and when he continued it was as though he was speaking to himself, explaining to himself. "Any crewmember is expendable. If...if that was the only way you had to keep that information from getting out...you did what you had to do." He paused as his voice tightened with emotion. He continued without turning.

"You should have told me. I'd have understood it like that, if you hadn't ignored me. Do you have any idea what if felt like to lie on that cold stone floor, hurting so much...and to have my friend..." he stumbled on the word, but continued, "my friend, and senior officer, refuse to speak to me? I didn't know what had happened to Enterprise, what I'd done to her. Hoshi and Travis were okay, and were talking about being released, so I finally realized the ship must be okay. I thought you were just disgusted that I'd been so weak. I can't believe you just let me think all that. Do you know what that did to me?"

"I didn't. I do now. And I will never forgive myself for that part." Trip's words were heavy with sorrow.

Malcolm nodded his head, acknowledging Trip's words, apparently still not trusting himself to turn around and face them.

Malcolm's stiff posture told Archer that the armory officer remained conflicted, and the captain could imagine the turmoil he must be experiencing, seeing Trip's actions in a new light. But he wasn't ready to forgive Trip for letting him blame himself. Archer decided it was time to end this. They had made real progress. If nothing else, each understood where the other was coming from. Archer suspected Malcolm had benefited more than the engineer. Trip needed absolution, needed to see that the harm could be undone, but he wouldn't be getting that today, Archer thought. Malcolm surprised him. The armory officer turned to face them, and Archer wasn't surprised to see that Reed's eyes were red. But there were no tears.

"Commander, you made a mistake telling them I knew about weapons, and then giving me that order. But I understand. You were trying to protect Enterprise. I.....I don't blame you for that part." Malcolm stopped, gulped. Archer felt a wrenching of his gut as he realized just how much this was costing the British officer. "The other...I'll have to work on that part." He hesitated as though he would say more, but then just turned back to face the reassuring, calming stars.

Trip had remained seated throughout the conversation, but now he rose and took a step toward the armory officer. His head was up, and there was a look of relief and hope on his face.

"Malcolm...thank you for understanding. And I'm so sorry..."

Archer spoke for the first time in several minutes, intervening before Trip could say more. The engineer didn't seem to understand that Malcolm was walking an emotional tightrope trying to maintain control. Now was not a good time to say anything else.

"Commander, you're dismissed. Return to your quarters and get some rest. And take something to eat with you. Malcolm, I'm going to the bridge for a little while. Feel free to stay here as long as you like. You can return to duty the day after tomorrow, part time as we discussed."

"Why not tomorrow?" Reed asked in a low voice from his spot by the window.

"You're exhausted. You need to rest, take a little more time. The day after tomorrow is soon enough. I'll talk to you later." Archer walked to the door, and saw that Trip was still staring at Malcolm's back, seeming confused by Reed's behavior.

"Trip? Come on," Archer prodded. "Let's go."

Gathering some food and putting it on a plate, Trip shot one final glance at the unmoving armory officer, and followed Archer out. The captain thought his friend looked a little better.

* * *

Trip returned to his quarters, his arms full of the variety of food from the galley that the captain had insisted on loading him with. The captain had rightly guessed he had barely been eating, and had hoped that his appetite might be stimulated now. Trip didn't know if he'd be hungry or not, but he did know he felt a little better. He reached his cabin without incident, but then was abruptly overcome with exhaustion. He dropped the food on a table, and made his way to his bunk, lying down heavily, and staring at the ceiling, exhausted but not sleepy.

It had been hard, nearly unbearable, to have Malcolm bare his pain, and point out where Trip was responsible. At least Reed had come to the realization that Trip had done the best he could—as Reed himself had done. The armory officer's acknowledgement of that fact had lightened the burden Trip had been carrying. But it had also driven home, painfully, the realization that much of this could have been avoided if he had put aside his own regret and guilt and simply spoken with his friend. It was that action that had done the most damage, and it was that action for which he had no excuse, not even to himself. The irony was not lost on the engineer. Malcolm might forgive him for the physical suffering he had been forced to endure, but it was going to be much longer before he forgave having been abandoned to his pain and guilt.

Lying on his bunk, Trip berated himself. He should have known, should have given Reed more credit for his ability to understand the situation on Dorlog. He knew Malcolm didn't have a lot of friends, but was fiercely loyal to those he did have. To believe that one of those friends didn't return that loyalty had to have been piercingly painful. If it was this that had been eating Reed up, fueling the armory officer's fury, Trip could understand the anger. He wished he had had more faith in his friend's ability to understand. His own lack of faith had cost him Malcolm's trust.

Although Trip's guilt had been assuaged somewhat by the confrontation in the captain's dining room, he still felt aching sorrow, as he realized what he had lost.

* * *

Malcolm limped slowly to his quarters. He was hurting. His toes hurt. His jaw hurt. His ribs hurt. But most of all, his mind hurt. He had been taken completely by surprise. He hadn't considered the reasons Trip might have for behaving as he had. He should have, but he'd been blinded by the sense of betrayal, a hurt that had gone so deep he hadn't even recognized it for what it was, taking refuge in anger instead. He wanted to sleep now, but knew that was a futile hope. His emotions, so rarely given free reign, had been loosed and were now running rampant.

He couldn't help remembering how it had felt. He had been hurting so badly, as they asked questions he couldn't answer. As they were breaking his fingers he had screamed until his throat felt if it would burst, and when he had turned his head away from them, not wanting to see his mangled hand, he had locked eyes with Trip, still restrained on a nearby slab. Now, in retrospect, he realized what he had seen—not stern warning, as he had imagined then, but guilt and fear. Fear for Reed. Admittedly, it didn't explain Trip's later behavior. But Malcolm now realized that the engineer must have been in torment, consumed by guilt. He hadn't recognized Trip's pain. In his own agony, it had been easy to overlook what the Commander had suffered. 'He must have been being eaten up since then,' Reed thought. 'In his position, I'd be ready to throw myself out an airlock.'

Trip needed Malcolm's forgiveness. Malcolm knew that, but wasn't sure he could give it yet. For his words, yes. He could understand that, even if it had cost Malcolm dearly. Sometimes that happened in the line of duty. He could forgive the moment of weakness, the error in judgment, if there had been any. It was the silence afterwards that he was having trouble excusing.

A part of Reed wanted to set things right, but every time he thought about it, the anger and hurt welled up again. Intellectually he could understand Trip's actions, but the pain of those hours of silence was still too fresh and deep. Every time Reed remembered the Dorlogian cell, he remembered the isolation and fear, the time spent wondering if he had somehow doomed Enterprise. He had borne it alone, when it would only have taken a word from his friend to alleviate his worries.

There it was again, that word 'friend'. It was this word that plagued him. How could a friend have behaved that way?

After Hoshi and Travis had left, he'd been so alone, and so frightened. Trip had been there, but hadn't spoken. Hadn't even helped him get a drink of water to soothe his parched throat. That had been the worst of it all, knowing that Trip could see him, could see how hurt he was, and still wouldn't help him. That had been more painful then all the injuries combined. No, Malcolm couldn't forgive that yet.

The meeting had accomplished the captain's main goal; it had cleared the air, and he was no longer so furious with Trip. He could work with the engineer. What he couldn't do—wouldn't do—was consider the engineer a friend. He would keep his feelings to himself. No one would find him behaving in anything less than a professional manner. He would give his best efforts, and work with Commander Tucker every bit as much as needed. But he would not give back his trust.

Reed tried to lie down on his mattress, wincing at the pain in his side and trying to find a more comfortable position. The doctor had told him he'd been lucky the broken rib hadn't punctured a lung. With all due respect to the doctor, he didn't feel very lucky. No, he felt anything but that. What he did feel was loneliness and loss.


	8. Chapter 8

As Trip strode onto the bridge his eyes were immediately drawn to the viewscreen.

"What is that thing, Captain?" he asked.

"That, Trip, is the Nexal Trading Station".

"The what?"

Archer grinned. "The Nexal Trading Station. The planet below us is Nexal. This is their orbital space station. It also serves as a trading post for the sector. We've been in contact with them."

"And?" The anticipation was clear.

"Yes, Trip. You can visit. We'll set up a schedule, and let everyone have a chance to stretch their legs. They have a mass transit shuttle system to the planet, if anyone wants to visit the surface. It looks like a great place to visit, lots of natural features, Class Minshara, and very Earth-like. T'Pol is setting up a duty roster and shore leave schedule."

Trip moved over to the tactical station to view the information on the station displayed there. Obligingly, Reed slid his chair back to give Trip easier access to the terminal, while continuing to study the schematics himself. Trip said something Archer couldn't hear, and Reed chuckled.

From the corner of his eye Archer watched the two officers. Although over the last month there had been some awkward moments, and an initial period of uncomfortable over-politeness, they now seemed to be working with the same efficiency as before their ill-fated away mission. On occasion Archer had even overheard them laughing together. After the discussion in his dining room, now nearly a month ago, the relationship between the two had seemed to improve almost immediately. Whether that was due to letting them return to duty, or as a result of the forced conversation, Archer had no way of knowing. He suspected it was a combination of the events.

Trip had remained somewhat subdued, and seemed slightly less impulsive. In Archer's opinion this was not a negative thing; he saw the change as sign of growth in his friend. Malcolm remained as inscrutable as ever. The display of emotion in the dining room had not, to Archer's knowledge, been repeated. Things seemed to be going well. And yet...Archer remained concerned. Something didn't seem quite right to him, something that he couldn't put his finger on. It troubled him. However, since he couldn't identify the problem, he let it go for now. He was simply happy to be able to give his crew a much-needed break. They deserved it. .

"Okay, everyone," Archer said, interrupting the hum of conversation on the bridge, the bulk of which was unrelated to ship's business. "Coordinate with T'Pol for your visit time slots. In the meantime, let's try to get a little work done today." Even as he tried to use a stern tone, Archer found he couldn't keep a grin off his face. He was looking forward to the break in routine too.

* * *

Archer watched the interaction from a distance. It was a private conversation, and it wasn't his right to eavesdrop, but he couldn't squelch his curiosity. He saw Trip throw up his hands in surrender and stalk to the food counter while Reed remained where he was, his expression never changing. Unable to resist, Archer walked over to Trip who was standing at the buffet, staring morosely at the breakfast choices.

"So, what's wrong now?" Archer asked sympathetically.

Trip shook his head in frustration. "I just asked Malcolm if he wanted to go over to the station with me. Of course he said no."

"Why?"

"I don't know. He has to clean all the weapons, single-handed. He has to review Starfleet's newest protocols on torpedo maintenance. Rearrange all the tuning spanners into alphabetical order by size. Who knows? I can't figure him out, Captain. He doesn't want to do anything, ever. I want to go over to the station, and see what planet-side tours they might have available, but he isn't interested."

"Oh," Archer said, unable to think of anything more profound. He didn't point out what was rather obvious to him—Reed's behavior was pretty normal, at least for him. Malcolm had always been a workaholic, and Archer wasn't surprised that he was trying to make up for the duty time he had missed.

"I just want to go on a hike, or something...there are some beautiful falls we could visit, and even do some rock climbing."

"I don't know what to tell you, Trip."

"I just don't have anything to do." Trip was now sulking.

Archer snorted. "Why? Because we haven't damaged the ship, or any of the crew, lately? I happen to know that the plasma ducts could use a good scrubbing, and there isn't any reason not to start the coil realignment. For that matter, aren't there some new Starfleet protocols YOU should be reviewing?"

"I'm sure I'll find a way to amuse myself," Trip said hastily. "I'll leave Malcolm alone, too. Now that I think about it, I haven't spent much time with Travis lately. I wonder if he'd like to go visit the planet..." As Trip picked up his breakfast and walked away Archer felt a wave of sympathy for Mayweather.

As he finished collecting his own breakfast, Archer glanced over at Reed. Malcolm was studying a padd and picking absently at his breakfast. Archer debated taking a moment to speak with him. He knew how uncomfortable that sort of casual interaction with the captain made Reed. Still, Archer decided, it was HIS ship, and if he wanted to talk to an officer in the mess hall, he would.

"Mind if I sit down?" he asked. Reed looked up, startled. He had been so lost in his work that he hadn't even noticed Archer's approach. He leapt to his feet.

"Of course not, Sir."

"Please sit down, Malcolm. I was just going to finish my coffee, and thought I'd do it out here. It's a beautiful planet, isn't it?" Archer gestured at the sphere visible below the orbital station. It really was uncannily Earth-like in appearance. T'Pol's last report had indicated that eighty-seven percent of the crew had scheduled a visit to either the trading station or the planet. "Plan to visit?"

"I was considering seeing if Travis was interested in a short trip, but he has bridge duty tonight."

"Too bad," Archer said sympathetically. Reed seemed unaware Archer knew he had declined to visit the planet with Trip. Well, Malcolm was entitled to take his shore leave with whomever he chose. And, quite clearly, he didn't plan to travel with Trip. Archer couldn't resist commenting.

"Trip mentioned wanting to visit the planet."

"Yes, he said something about that," Malcolm replied absently. And then, seeming to get Archer's point he added, "Commander Tucker can be a bit...wearying on shore leave. I was hoping for something a little calmer."

'And Travis is calmer?' Archer thought, but didn't say. "Well, I hope something can be worked out, Malcolm. It would be a shame to miss the chance to visit." A thought occurred to him. "What about the trading station? It might be a good chance to pick up some souvenirs."

"Yes, Sir. It probably would be a good opportunity. Perhaps I'll do that." Reed replied politely, and Archer knew there was no point in pursuing the conversation any further.

"Have fun, if you go," Archer said, rising. "I need to get some work done, so I can visit later."

Reed, who had also risen, nodded. "I hope you enjoy yourself, Captain."

* * *

Reed watched the captain leave, and drew a deep breath, trying to relax. He was tense so much of the time now. The last month had been a challenge. At first, his attention had been focused almost solely on duty-related issues. It had been aggravating to be limited to three hours a day, when there was so much that needed tending to. Although Ensign Baylo was competent enough, he lacked Reed's strict attention to detail, and there were a myriad of minor things that needed Reed's personal attention. It had been a relief when he'd finally been allowed to return to full duty two weeks ago. It was only in the last few days had Reed finally felt that things were back to normal in the armory.

He flexed his fingers, grateful for the ability to do so. The air splint, the last physical reminder of the experience on Dorlog, had been removed three days ago. He had tried to pester the doctor into removing it earlier, but Phlox had been unimpressed by his arguments and had insisted on six full weeks of immobilization—even then the doctor had mumbled something about the impatience of humans.

It wasn't the task of returning the armory to normal, or even the inconvenience of trying to work without the use of his dominant hand, that had been the most challenging aspect of the last few weeks. It had been trying to maintain a facade of normality in his interactions with Trip. Reed had no problem working with the man, but Trip, in his desperate desire to put things right again, wouldn't give him a moment's peace. He sought Reed out constantly. Trip wouldn't send a subordinate to the armory for even the most mundane of duties, but took care of each minor repair personally. Worse, he insisted on dealing directly with Reed, not any of the armory crew. It was annoying and took him away from more important duties, but so far he had humored the engineer.

He tried to pretend it wasn't bothering him, but in reality Reed didn't want to spend any extra time with Trip. He had promised himself he would work as closely as needed with the engineer, and he did, even to the point of allowing his precious time to be wasted to accommodate Trip. Off-duty was another matter entirely; Reed needed space from his crewmate. His imagination had been stretched coming up with creative excuses to avoid Trip. The act had to fool the captain as well. Reed was well aware that Archer was still keeping a close eye on both of them, and the last thing he wanted was to prompt another forced 'conversation'. While he had to admit the last one had been effective, he wasn't eager to repeat the experience. So he worked hard to hide from both Trip and the captain the fact that he still was acutely uncomfortable around the engineer.

* * *

"Hoshi, do women really like stuff like this? I mean, really like it? Or is it just something you're supposed to like, so you do?" Trip asked, holding up a rather gaudy piece of cloth.

She came over and took it from him, studying it. "Some do," she replied noncommittally.

"A lot of help you are," he said, moving restlessly to the next table.

Hoshi sighed. He had been like this since leaving Enterprise. She knew he didn't really want to be here shopping with her; he would have preferred something more active. She had been surprised when he'd asked her if he could accompany her while she shopped. "Commander, is there anything in particular you'd like to see? There are a lot of other shops here you know. There might be something that interests you."

Trip looked chagrined. "Am I being that bad? Sorry. I know you want to look at this stuff. I'll look too. Who knows, I might learn something. Like, how would you wear this?" He picked up an item of apparel that Hoshi couldn't identify and held it up, turning it around several times, trying to figure out which end was up.

Hoshi laughed. "Really, Sir. I thought you'd be going down to the planet."

Trip's face darkened for the briefest of instants, and then he plastered an obviously fake grin on his face. "Nah. I didn't feel like going alone. The Captain was busy, Malcolm claimed he was busy, and I couldn't find Travis."

"Oh. That's too bad," Hoshi said sympathetically, but she was puzzled. She was sure Travis had mentioned that he was planning a visit to the station, and she thought she'd glimpsed him a few minutes earlier in a shop that sold rock-climbing gear.

As the pair of Starfleet officers moved on, Trip maintained a running commentary on everything they saw. She was only half listening to him, most of her attention focused on the words of the people around her. The Nexallian language had a wonderful singsong quality, and the tempo actually affected the meaning. She was starting to get the gist of it. Her focus was interrupted when she heard another language. She was so immersed in Nexallian that it took her several seconds to realize she was hearing English. Curious, she left Trip examining several rather odd creatures at a Nexallian pet shop and went around the corner.

"Really, Sir, wonderful cliffs. You should consider it. With the right equipment, we could have a great time!"

There was a chuckle. "I'm not sure I'm ready to resume rock climbing just yet.

Hoshi rounded the corner of the booth, and nearly collided with Travis. Malcolm stood next to him. There was a moment of surprised silence. "I thought you were staying on board, Lieutenant," Hoshi finally offered. Both Travis and Reed shifted uncomfortably.

"Ummmm, well—" Reed was interrupted before he could manage something intelligible.

"Hoshi, what do you think of this little guy?" Trip came around the booth's corner carrying a small, furry, and frightened looking creature. Spotting Malcolm and Travis, he halted abruptly. The look of surprise might have been funny under different circumstances, Hoshi thought fleetingly. There was another uncomfortable silence before Trip spoke again.

"I thought you were too busy to leave the ship, Malcolm." There was a hint of accusation in his tone.

"Yes...well...I finished and reconsidered. The captain suggested I should make time for a visit, and Travis hadn't come over here yet, so I was able to convince him to accompany me." Reed's face had turned red and Travis had the good grace to look embarrassed.

The excuse was transparent to Hoshi, and she knew it must be to Trip as well. She glanced over to see his reaction. There was a puzzled, hurt look in his eyes. 'Will this never end?' she wondered. Malcolm and Trip had seemed to be getting along so well.

"Yeah, well, I'm glad you could make it. There are some nice shops down that way." Trip pointed the way he and Hoshi had come. "Come on Hoshi, isn't there some other stuff you wanted to see?"

"Uh, yes! Lots of other things, and I'm running out of time. So if you'll excuse us, Lieutenant. Travis." Hoshi hurried after Trip who was already several meters away, leaving Reed and Travis exchanging abashed looks.

* * *

"I guess that's all. I can't carry any more, and even if I could I'm running out of money." Travis struggled to balance the packages in his arms. "I think I've found a gift for everyone on the Horizon."

Reed, who was carrying only one small parcel, reached up and relieved Travis of one of the larger bundles. "I guess that would be one of the drawbacks of being a boomer. With practically everyone on board being family or close friend, I imagine it gets rather expensive around holiday time."

"Yeah, but I don't mind." Travis paused. "In fact, it's funny, but this place has reminded me of home."

"How so?" Reed asked, knowing that Travis was referring to the Horizon when he said home. Reed wondered how a huge, crowded orbital station was reminding the helmsman of a tiny cargo ship.

"Same sort of feel, somehow. Maybe it's the fact that it's so self-contained. Even with the transits to their planet, you get the feeling of isolation and self-sufficiency." Travis paused. "Do you ever miss home, Lieutenant?"

Reed shook his head.

"I do," Travis said, with a hint of sadness in his voice. "I don't mean I'm desperately homesick, or anything like that, but I do miss the kids I grew up with, sometimes. We did everything together—ate together, played together, and went to school together. Everything. We were all we had, so we relied completely on each other. When I first joined Starfleet, I missed that a lot." He brightened. "In that way, Enterprise reminds me of home."

Reed glanced sharply at Travis. Was the ensign trying to tell him something? Make a point? If he was, it was well disguised because at the moment Travis was looking wistfully at his packages, seeming to assure himself that he did, in fact, have enough gifts for everyone on the Horizon.

"I suppose it's time we returned to the ship," Reed said, still thinking about Travis' words.

"I guess. I'm on the next duty shift, since I switched with Marlowe to come over here. You?"

Reed shook his head. "No, I have the one after that. I did a shift this morning." He didn't mention that he had rearranged his shifts in an attempt to avoid encountering Trip on the station—a futile effort. Remembering the expression on Trip's face as he had brushed past them, he felt a pang of regret.

They walked back to the Enterprise's docking port in silence, making frequent stops to rearrange the unwieldy packages in Travis' arms. They didn't speak. Travis was obviously thinking about his family and friends, and Reed was mulling over Travis' words. The helmsman spoke so fondly of his childhood friends, who had grown into his adult friends, that Reed felt a twinge of envy. He had had childhood friends, but not many, and none of those friendships had lasted into adulthood. He had never been easy to get to know, and by the time he was in secondary school most people had stopped trying. But then he had come aboard the Enterprise; unlike so many of his 'acquaintances' on Earth, the crew had simply refused to leave him to his solitary self. Even when he had rejected their initial overtures, they had persisted. He had more friends now then at any other point in his life. And that didn't even count Trip.

Reed helped Travis wrangle the pile of packages into the ensign's cabin. Leaving Travis to sort the treasures, he headed for his own quarters, still contemplating Travis' words. For the last month, while trying to maintain the pretense of normality, he had adamantly refused to think about how much he missed the friendship with Trip. It had been easier not to think about it. Until today he hadn't even known if Trip had noticed any difference between the real camaraderie they'd shared before, and the facsimile that had replaced it. The engineer's hurt expression had made it clear that Trip had, indeed, noticed.

Reed didn't know if he could ever be friends with Trip again. He didn't know if he would ever fully trust the other man. He hadn't wanted to attempt to resurrect the friendship, unwilling to risk being hurt again. But Travis' words had forced him to reflect on his decision, and on his recent actions. He'd been pointedly reminded what he had lost. Reed reached his quarters, but didn't enter them. Instead, he stood outside the closed doors, thinking. He might not ever again be able to consider Trip a trusted friend...but wasn't it at least worth a try? Reed thought that maybe, just maybe, he could take a first step. He turned away from the security of his cabin, and walked back down the corridor, back the way he had just come.

* * *

Trip sat in his quarters, holding a padd with a list of chores the engineering section needed to complete over the next week. He'd been staring at the padd for the better part of an hour, and he hadn't made any progress in assigning the duties. He wasn't really seeing the padd at all. His mind was back on the trading station. At first, he'd been shocked to encounter Reed and Mayweather. He had truly believed that they were both still on Enterprise. The realization that the improvement in the working relationship with Malcolm didn't extend beyond duty hours hit him hard. But deep down hadn't he had known that? He had sensed Malcolm's hesitancy to socialize with him, but rather than be patient he had ignored the warning signs and redoubled his efforts. He'd been convinced that if he tried hard enough he could make things right again; he had denied the truth enough to imagine he was succeeding. Now it was patently clear that he had been fooling himself. They were no closer to being friends now then they'd been a month ago. He had to face the possibility that the situation might not ever change.

He looked at the duty roster in his hand again without interest, but T'Pol needed the duty roster. He worked to push the events of the day out of his mind, and to focus on his work. He was making an adjustment to the alpha shift schedule when the door chime startled him. He wasn't expecting anyone. Curious, he hit the keypad, and the door slid open to reveal Malcolm. Trip stood silent. This was the first time in six weeks that Malcolm had stopped by his quarters.

"I..." Malcolm cleared his throat. "I understand you'd like to go down to the planet. I was wondering if you still wanted company."

They locked eyes, blue ones meeting gray squarely, and for an instant there was real communication. Slowly, Trip nodded.

"Well then, I better see T'Pol about that schedule," Reed said brusquely. Without another word he turned on his heel and strode away.

Trip stared after him, a little taken aback by Reed's abrupt departure. Slowly a smile spread across his face. Whistling a little, he went back into his quarters to pack what he needed for the journey.


End file.
